Looking At Those Same Stars Again
by Izzyv1o
Summary: The course of James Tiberius Kirk's life is far from smooth. From being George Kirk's Son to life on Tarsus IV, and with everything else, Jim can't help but wonder just how high his quota for suffering is. (Gen.) Formerly "A Burdened Soul", see first chapter notes for warnings. [[Complete]]
1. V

_Looking At Those Same Stars Again_

* * *

**Chapter 1: V**

* * *

The first time he caught on to what was going on, Jim was five.

* * *

They are in a toy store, and he is playing with a model starship. He thinks nothing of it, until Sam taps him on the shoulder, gesturing towards their mom. She is trying to hide it, but even at five, Jim can tell that she is crying.

Truth be told, he only barely understands what happened when Sam explains it to him later.

What Jim gets out of it is that starships make her think of his Dad, and to see Jim, who already looks so much like the man (even at a young age) playing with one was just too much for her. Well, Jim is going by Sam's (and everyone else he'd ever met's, really) statement that he resembles his father. For all Jim knows, his father had green skin and three eyes, since there are no pictures of the man anywhere in the house. But no, Sam would never lie to him. Not Sam, his older brother, the one he has looked up to every minute of the five years of his life. (Well, probably not the first few hours, but every second he had known his brother, at least.) Sam would never lie to him, and would always be there to protect him, as he had for the past five years.

Even at five, Jim is bright, and after the incident, he decides not to play with toy starships, anymore, because then, maybe, his Mom would stop crying all the time.

* * *

_Things to look out for in this story (warnings for things hinted at and outright discussed because fic should be a safe place for everyone): neglect, mental health problems, near-death experiences, starvation, violence against children, Tarsus IV, alcohol abuse/alcoholism, chronic illness, body image issues/body dysmorphia.  
If you need clarification on any of these, don't hesitate to ask!  
_


	2. VIII

When he was eight, Jim decided to dye his hair black.

* * *

He has the entire day to himself, Sam being out with friends and his Mom off-planet. So, when his "Uncle Frank" is passed out drunk on the couch, Jim leaves the house and walks the three miles into town, not paying attention to the passing of time as he goes.

By the time he gets into town, buys the dye (with credits from the drunk's pocket), and gets back home, it is dark out, but he never even thought about what would happen if Sam came home in the middle of his escapades. Luckily, Sam is still out and the man on the couch still snoring loudly.

As quietly as he can, Jim goes to the upstairs bathroom, following the instructions exactly as they are on the box. In under an hour, his hair is jet black, almost the polar opposite of his natural color, but he doesn't get to dwell on that, since Sam comes home just as Jim is throwing away the box.

The first words out of his brother's mouth are not endearing, to say the least. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I-I, I just…" Jim is so stunned at his brother's reaction that he can't even form a complete sentence.

"What, Jim? What did you think you were doing? Do you want to send Mom into another attack when she gets home? Do you want Frank to have another reason to yell at you? I bet you never even thought about the consequences, did you?"

The accusatory tone that Sam uses cuts Jim like a knife. This is _Sam,_ his brother, his protector. Sam, who has always stood up for him and guided him through life. Eventually, Jim manages to cut through the haze of hurt and betrayal and fear enough to respond. "Sam, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to make you mad, I just…"

"What, Jim?" Sam's tone doesn't soften. "What made you decide to go into town, unsupervised, and then to mutilate your hair? What, please tell, made you think that this was a good idea?"

Faced with Sam's disapproval, Jim can only look down as he mutters quietly, "I'm just so sick of it…"

Sam's expression softens, as does his voice, upon seeing how vulnerable Jim looks. Sounding more like Jim's brother every second, he asks, "What are you sick of?"

When he opens his mouth, Jim realizes how stupid it sounds, but this is _Sam_. Sam can know the truth. "I'm sick of everyone looking at me as if they're seeing a ghost. Especially Mom." He pauses for a moment, not daring to check his brother's expression for fear of any anger that may be lurking there, before continuing, "I just thought that, maybe if my hair was black, Mom would remember that I'm not just Dad's ghost, back to haunt her." Jim takes another deep breath, bracing himself for the negative reaction he knows is coming, before adding in a whisper, "I just wanted her to see me for who I really am; her son."

Though Jim is expecting Sam to continue with his scolding, it is not the reaction he receives. Sam seems at a loss for words, as though he has not expected Jim to be so insightful, as though he thought Jim hadn't noticed the way their Mom seemed to stare at him as though he were George Kirk, back to torment her.

When Sam speaks, it is clear he is not nearly as mad as he was before, although his tone is still stern. "Jim, you shouldn't have dyed your hair. It was a stupid thing to do, and even if Mom can't bring herself to yell at you, Frank certainly will. You know he will. And I can't always save you from him. We just have to hope that your hair will be back to normal by the time Mom gets back."

Jim spends the rest of the night in his room, trying to avoid Frank's wrath for as long as possible. As predicted, though, when Jim goes down for breakfast the next morning and Frank got a look at what he had done, the man promptly freaks out.

Jim sits through the yelling, knowing better than to talk back (as much as he would have loved to do so, he knew it would only make the yelling worse), and thinking about how nice it would be to get out of this place; to get away from stupid adults and stupid kids and ghosts and bad memories and missing parents. He takes the verbal lashing in silence, dreaming of finally getting out of Riverside and then as far away from the place as he can possibly get.


	3. X

When Jim was ten, he decided he should drop out of school.

* * *

It is, really, only the logical thing to do. He is stuck in a class full of idiots who all resent him because he actually had two brain cells to rub together. In Jim's mind, it is entirely their fault, anyway, since it really isn't hard to be the smartest kid in the class when everyone else is so incredibly stupid. Is it his fault that the entire school is full of dumb hicks? Not in Jim's mind.

Even his teacher is growing sick of him, he can tell. Every time he answers a question correctly, she gets this tired look on her face, as though having such a smart student is some sort of burden.

Frankly, Jim knows that he should have skipped at least one grade by now, but his Mom still can't look at him for three minutes, let alone the time it would take to have that conversation, and Frank doesn't give a shit about how smart he is. Or, when Frank does care, it is to yell at Jim for being 'too damned smart for your own good'. Either way, the man would never bother to fill out the necessary paperwork for Jim to change to a class with kids as smart as he is. Hell, in Jim's mind, he is the smartest kid in all of Iowa (with the exception of Sam, of course), and so there is really no point in moving up a few grades, since they couldn't teach him anything he doesn't already know.

Jim knows that, even though his plan makes perfect sense to him, no one else will agree or understand. So, instead of taking the hours that it would doubtlessly take to convince his Mom and Frank that it he should stop going to school, Jim decides to just go for it.

Since Sam usually walks him to the bus stop, Jim goes along with it, but he slips off into town when the bus lets everyone off. Even if Sam understood (which Jim was sure he would have), Jim knows Sam would have tried to get him to tell his Mom, and he really doesn't feel like doing that just yet.

He spends the day wandering around the small town, watching people going about their lives, ignoring him. He wonders if any of them have ever felt the same way; as though they were stuck in a world full of idiots. After a moment's thought, he decides that they have not, since he is the only smart person in the town.

He wanders around the town until it is time for school to let out, careful to avoid any cops that he sees, in case they asked why he isn't in school. When it's just about time, he heads back to the bus stop, and catches the bus home, like he usually does.

It never occurs to him that anyone at school would notice his absence (they are all too dumb to notice anything), or that they would call his mother to find out where he was. Really, he should have seen it coming. As soon as he turns down the drive, Jim finds police cars in front of the garage, and his mother, clearly worried, running towards him.

Honestly, he should have expected his plans to backfire. They always do.

He expects yelling and anger from his mother, but when she finally reaches him, she pulls him in for a tight hug, tears running down her cheeks.

Jim expects harsh words and scolding, but what comes out of her mouth instead makes him feel infinitely worse than any amount of yelling ever could. "Oh, Jimmy, I was so worried about you! Don't you ever run off on me again! I thought you were gone for good!"

The whole time she holds him and tells him how worried she was, there is only one thought running through Jim's mind. That thought runs through him and burns itself in his soul, forever reminding him of its existence. It's really quite simple: the whole time when she was yelling at him, and even afterwards, she never once got That Look in her eyes. Even Jim can tell that he royally screwed up, but just this once, his mother is able to look at him for more than a minute without seeing ghosts.


	4. XII

When Jim was twelve, Sam left.

(No note, no goodbye, no warning.)

* * *

Jim wakes up to hear the back door slamming shut, and bolts out of bed and down the stairs, hoping to see Frank finally storming out, only to find that it was not Frank, but Sam. Frank, much to Jim's displeasure, is standing in the kitchen, looking entirely too smug, but Jim pays him no mind as he runs out after Sam, calling as he goes, "Sam! Sam! What's going on? Where are you going?"

But even Jim's cries do not make Sam turn back. Jim keeps running after his brother for as long as he can, but Sam is older and taller and a faster runner than he is. When he finally stops his pursuit, Jim collapses on the ground, kneeling on the barren dirt road, watching as his brother's shape disappears on the horizon. There is only one thought running through Jim's head, and it drowns everything else out, loud in its simplicity. "No," he whispers. "No, no, no, no! _No_!"

How can Sam do this to him? How can Sam, who has always been his protector, just abandon him like that? How can Sam just run away and leave him to endure Frank and his anger? How can Sam, his idol, leave him behind? Why didn't Sam take him along? Why was Sam allowed to escape when he is still stuck in Riverside? Why did everyone important to him always abandon him? First his Dad (before the man had even met him, for Christ's sake), now Sam, even his mom tries to get away as much as she can. What has he done to push everyone away?

As Jim kneels in the dirt, his head aches with all the whys running through it, and he cannot come up with a single answer, no matter how hard he tries. Instead, he balls his fists, slamming them into the ground and steadfastly ignoring the tears that are making their way down his cheeks.

* * *

_So... It seems there are these things called "Normal-length chapters". One may be up next. If you guys want one, that is. _


	5. XII : 2

When Jim was almost thirteen, he finally let his anger take over.

(It was about damn time, too.)

* * *

He can't stop the anger, now, it's been boiling within him since Sam left, gathering heat for years before that.

He has tried to settle the anger by punching things (and sometimes people) and by riling up Frank, just so he can yell back at the man. All of these are only temporary fixes, though, and the third solution often causes his anger to grow, rather than shrink, since Frank knows all the right buttons to push on Jim, just as Jim knows which buttons to push with Frank. Usually, though, fighting with Frank only makes his situation worse, since Jim never knows when to stop, and often relied on Sam to stop him before he pushed Frank so far that the man finally resorted to violence.

This is the last straw, though. Jim caught Frank walking out to the trash with an armful of pictures, plaques, and medals, items Jim has only ever stolen glimpses of when his Mom is out. They were his Dad's, and Frank has no right to even _look_ at them, let alone throw them out. Frank is trying to defile his father's memory, and Jim will _not_ let that happen. Not while he is still around to have a say in it, anyway.

While Frank gives a self-satisfied smile and grabs a case of beers to sit on the couch with, Jim pulls all of the items out of the trash and brings them quietly to the safety of his room, hiding them in a box, pushed up against the wall under his bed. Then he climbs out his window, for dramatic effect, and when he is back on solid ground makes his way over to the red Corvette in the driveway. Jim is filled with the urge to do something completely reckless and stupid, so long as it will get back at Frank for what he tried to do.

Jim likes cars, normally, and usually has a special appreciation for the well-kept antiques, but seeing this car just makes him even more outraged.

Having spent the past twelve years watching his mom fix the farm equipment and their cars, Jim, of course, knows how to hot-wire one. He also knows, from experience, that this car roars quite loudly to life, which means he really has to move quickly after that, before Frank comes storming out to kill him.

It is all too easy to get the car started, but as the car comes roaring to life, Jim realizes that he has a problem: he isn't quite tall enough to reach the pedals.

Hearing the back door slam open, Jim slides as far forward in his seat as he can, slamming both his feet down on the gas pedal as Frank (as predicted) comes screaming towards him.

Really, the man could have been a little more original.

Or maybe he is too much of an imbecile to think of anything better and less cliché.

Who knows?

As Jim mentally evaluates the relationship between level of intelligence and originality of reactions, Frank proves himself unworthy to even be put in the graph of said relationship by yelling as Jim drove off, "Get back here you little bastard! Turn that car around right now, or I'll call the cops – I swear, I will!"

As he speeds away, Jim does consider turning around – to leave behind an incredibly squished Frank, with tire marks leaving no doubt as to the cause of death. Well, that's how it goes in Jim's head, anyways. He knows the real result would never look as cool as it does in his imagination, and if it doesn't look exactly the same, it really wouldn't be worth the trouble – or the chance that Frank might survive.

Besides, why should he turn around? What could the cops do to him that would be worse than the things Frank got away with?

Jim can't come up with any answers to that question, either. Instead of slowing down or turning around, he takes a sharp right off of their street and on to the main road, zooming past cornfields and barren plots of land, wondering if he would ever be able to get away from it all.

His thoughts are cut short, though, when the car's phone started to ring. Kirk knows who it is straight away, but answers it anyways, hardly paying attention as Frank's voice rings out, "Hey, are you out of your mind? That car's an antique. You think you can get away with this just 'cause your mother's off-planet? You get your ass back home, now! You live in my house, buddy. You live in my house and that's my car. You get one scratch on that car and I'm going to whip your a-"

With no little satisfaction gained from the action, Jim pushes the button to end the call, turning the radio on and blasting it as loud as it will go.

For the hell of it, Jim decides to take the top off, flipping the levers and watching as the roof goes flying behind him. Absently, he wonders if that counts as getting a scratch on the car.

It probably does, but Jim can't bring himself to care. He is pushing eighty five MPH, cruising down an empty road, with the wind blowing through his hair. His problems all feel like they are miles away as he lets out a resounding "Yeah!"

Or maybe, he thinks, noticing the shape coming up, the road isn't so empty after all. When he gets a better look at who it is, Jim called out to his classmate with a wave, noticing the confused expression on the boy's face, "Hey, Johnny!"

Not a minute after he passes Johnny, Kirk hears the telltale sirens, and wonders if Frank had really called, or if the cop was only there because he was speeding. The officer pulls up next to him and orders, "Citizen! Pull over."

Since it is a direct order, from a police officer, no less, Jim decides he will pull over – onto the side road that leads, he knows, to the old quarry. Sure enough, a gate comes up in front of him, but rather than stopping and trying to open it, Jim drives straight through it, following the old dirt road towards the cliff that he knows is fast approaching.

For one brief moment, as he approaches the edge, Jim seriously considers staying in the car and going over the cliff. He wonders what it would feel like, to die, and wonders if he would finally get to meet his dad. But, he realizes, if he did meet the Great George Kirk, what would he ever say to him? How could he look the man in the face, knowing that his Dad had given his life so that Jim could survive, only for Jim to throw it away thirteen years later? No, he can't face his father, yet; he hasn't earned that right.

Crying out as he goes, Jim frantically turns the wheel, trying to turn the car's course away from the edge, to no avail. Moments before the car goes over, Jim flings himself out of the car, feeling, for one fleeting second, as though he is flying, before he falls to the ground, hands struggling to grip something, anything, as he slides towards the edge.

His motions become more frantic as he very nearly falls over the edge, but his hands find purchase in the soil not a second too soon, and he manages to pull himself up onto solid ground once more.

Panting from the effort, he stands before the cop, who continued to chase him and asks, as though he has not just destroyed a car and almost fallen to his death, "Is there a problem, officer?"

The cop does not look impressed (not that robots could convey much expression at all) as it spoke, "Citizen, what is your name?"

Proudly, almost as though his name can save him or protect him, he replies, "My name is James Tiberius Kirk."

The officer is not all that impressed by his declaration, and brings him to the Riverside Police Station, under charges of speeding, trespassing, grand theft auto (so Frank _had_ called the cops on him, after all) and operating a motorized vehicle without a valid driver's license. When they get to the station, there are actual humans there, all of whom are appalled at the idea that the robot brought in a kid. The charges are legitimate, though, so they have to keep him at the station.

To Jim, it's all kinds of exciting to see, first hand, what it is like to be arrested. The officers who book him give him a look he knows all too well, though – the look that says, more or less, 'I know who your dad was. I'm sorry about your life'. Frankly, he's sick of getting that look, but can do nothing about it – unless he wants to make his situation worse. He does give the officers a Look, though, when they began talking as though he is not in the room, saying to each other, "The poor kid," and, "What has he thinking, driving out to the quarry like that?" and, as if it isn't obvious, "He could have gotten himself killed."

"I can hear you, you know," Jim finally says, as they begin to talk about how his parents must have neglected him something awful. "If you've got so many questions, why don't you just ask me, instead of speculating as though I'm not even here?

"Alright, son," the tall, balding officer says, "is there anyone who can come pay your bail?"

"Well," Jim answers, pretending to give the matter thought, "my Mom is off-planet, my older brother is who-the-hell-knows-where, and Frank probably called that robocop in the first place. So, no, unless you know how to get in touch with any of my dead father's relatives, who probably don't even know that I exist."

The officers are clearly not expecting such attitude and cynicism from a not-even-thirteen year old, judging by the surprised looks on their faces. "Well, kid," says the shorter, rounder one, at length, "if no one comes to pick you up, you're gonna have to stay here until the hearing, assuming that whoever's car that was decides to press charges."

Jim sighs. Knowing Frank, the man will press charges, and probably try and get him shipped off to juvie, to boot. Knowing they will ask, Jim supplies, "The car was Frank's. Technically, he's my step-dad, but if you ask him, he'll deny ever meeting me, which is the only thing we have in common. He'll probably want to press charges, so you should probably let him know that you've apprehended me, and all." He even gives them the number for his house, and watches while the tall one calls up Frank and tells him about Jim's situation.

Even from six feet away, Kirk can see the anger in Frank's face when he hears of the fate of his beloved car, and knows, even before the officer asks, that he should get comfortable, since there is no chance of him being picked up any time soon.

Once the officers reach the same conclusion, they close the transmission with Frank, and both the tall man and short man look at the terminal with no little disgust on their faces, clearly wondering how any man could leave a child under his care in jail willingly.

After a while, the officers pull out a chess set, and begin to play. Jim watches, enthralled, as the two men play, learning most the game by watching, and asking questions when certain rules remain unclear. After the match is over (the stout officer won, for the record), Jim asks, hesitantly, "May I play?"

Had the officers simply said 'no,' they would have been saved much embarrassment. Although Kirk loses his first few matches, he quickly improves his strategy until he can beat both officers without too much thought.

Naturally, the officers ask the inevitable question, "Why did a kid as smart as you do something as stupid as stealing a car and driving it off of a cliff?"

Before Kirk can answer, a call comes in, stating that Jim will be moved to a juvenile detention center until his hearing, which is scheduled to be in a week, when he will receive a formal punishment for his crimes.

In the squad car en route to the center, Jim numbly realizes that, not only is his Mom coming home just in time to see his hearing, but the hearing is going to be held on his Birthday.


	6. XIII

On Jim's thirteenth birthday, he learned what pure, unadulterated, hatred feels like.

* * *

The day starts out poorly enough, it being the day of his hearing for driving that damned Corvette into the quarry (he gets the feeling the date was pushed up, since he was staying in the detention center, and missing school, instead of staying at home). When he gets to the courthouse, Jim feels his stomach sink as he sees his Mom's car parked out front, and even though part of him had known that she would be there, he still feels his heart drop at the thought of her witnessing another one of his screw-ups.

He keeps his head down as he walks into the courtroom, escorted by the officers from the detention center (who, despite their initial impression that he was just another delinquent, had all been charmed by him within an hour of meeting him), careful not to look for his Mom, since he can already imagine the disappointed look on her face. Jim knows, without a doubt, that if he sees his mother's disapproval, he will not be able to tell his story to the Judge, which is crucial to him being let off easy, the civil defender from the detention center has assured him.

The judge first asks Frank for his account, before turning to Jim and asking, "Mister Kirk, would you care to give me your version of the events?"

Jim gives his story, explaining that Frank had ticked him off, so he hot-wired the car, and then describes the rest of the events, including how Frank refused to pick him up from the jail, all the while avoiding looking in his Mom's direction, staring at the wall in front of him, instead.

"Mister Kirk," the Judge prodded, "would you care to explain the events that led you to steal the car in greater detail?"

Looking down, Jim answers honestly, "I really wouldn't, your honor..."

The Judge, sensing his discomfort, says simply, "Thank you, Mister Kirk, you may sit down," before she turns to Frank and says sternly, "Mister Wallace, would you care to explain to me why you left this boy in custody when you were available to take him home?"

From that point, the hearing seems to go in Kirk's favor, and when the Judge announces a recess while she deliberates, he is feeling pretty hopeful that she'll let him off easily.

When everyone is let out, Jim is escorted out, and the guards lead him out to a corridor off of the main hallway where it is fairly quiet and there is a row of empty benches along the wall, which Jim quickly takes advantage of.

The officers who brought him to the hearing go off in search of something or other, leaving Jim to sit and wonder about his fate. After ten minutes, a middle-aged woman approaches him, a warm smile plastered upon her face. When she reaches him, she asks, "James?"

Kirk sits quietly, knowing better than to speak to a strange woman who randomly came up to him.

"You are James Kirk, right? My name is Andrea Timmel, and the Judge asked me to talk to you."

She seems genuinely kind, and there are people in the hallway, so she really can't get away with anything bad, so Jim acknowledges her. "I already said I don't want to talk about what pissed me off. And it's Jim, not James."

"Well, Jim, I'm not here to try and get any information out of you, I'm here with an offer. I am the Assistant Director for Camp Green Lake, a program for troubled youths that is based on Tarsus IV. We are always looking for new campers, and the Judge is willing to let you choose between six months in the detention center or six months at Camp Green Lake."

Jim opens his mouth to tell her to just leave him alone, but Andrea cuts in, "Now, hear me out before you reject me. We aren't going to make you do manual labor, or anything. If you choose to come with me, we'll continue with your education and you'll be part of our self- sufficient society, where we grow our own food and everyone shares the work. Most of our 'campers' even choose to stay past the end of their sentences, and we are one camp that doesn't charge for enrollment. I'm not going to force you to come, but I'd like you to think about it, okay?"

Silently, Jim nods, trying to find the catch. He is being offered a chance to get away from Riverside, to a place where people might actually recognize his talents, and he won't have to see Frank for who-knows-how-long. There has to be a hidden catch, somewhere.

With an acknowledging nod, Andrea leaves, and Kirk remains seated, lost in thoughts of finally being able to escape.

When the court is called back in session, the judge turns to Jim and states, "I'm going to give you a choice, Mr. Kirk. In light of the circumstances, I am sentencing you to six months at the juvenile detention center. But, I am willing to let you serve your time at Camp Green Lake, if you wish. I believe Ms. Timmel already spoke to you about that option?"

Nodding, he replies, "Yeah, she did."

"Well, then, the choice is yours. Pick your atonement wisely, Mr. Kirk."

After another moment's thought, Jim speaks, "I think I'd like to go to Camp Green Lake, Your Honor."

"Then it's decided. James Kirk, you are hereby sentenced to six months at Camp Green Lake. Your shuttle leaves on Tuesday. Case dismissed."

As everyone gets up to leave the room, Jim catches a glimpse of Frank, and the look of joy and smugness that resides on his face.

Well, that alone makes Jim bristle with anger, but then he hears what Frank is saying to his brother, who Jim has met enough times to recognize, and does not particularly like. "I've finally managed to rid myself of both the brats, Mike. It only took me six and a half years to do it, but now they're both out of my hair."

Even from a few feet away, Kirk can hear him, how smug and self-satisfied he sounds. The words, and the way they are said make Jim's anger grow even more. He is finally getting away, not being gotten rid of! How could a person possibly be as vile as this man? How could anyone be so contemptible and so disgusting? How had he lasted almost seven years with a man who, on a daily basis, got drunk and screamed at him?

The loathing, pure and strong, fills him up to the point where he is willing to drive the car off the cliff all over again, and go to jail for life, as long as Frank goes with it, tied up in the trunk.

When he gets outside, Jim is pulled from his anger by arms suddenly wrapping around him and holding him tight. "Oh, Jimmy! When I got home and you weren't there, I was afraid you had run off like Sam did! I was so worried about you! I didn't even know what happened until the station called to give a reminder about today. Really, Jimmy, I am so sorry he left you there for a week! In fact, I have a few words to say to that man..."

As she walks off, a determined look in her eyes, Jim feels his anger disappearing, just knowing his mother is still able to see him and react rationally - even if this is only because he landed himself in juvie. As he watches, though, Winona walks up to Frank and slaps him across the face, leaving the man with a few choice words that would make even a trucker blush.

The surge of happiness that he feels at the thought that Frank might actually be leaving for good frees him of the rest of his anger, and he heads home with his mother in contentment.

When he gets home, though, there is no cake, no presents, and not even the smallest signification of the holiday to be found. The pair eat a quiet dinner and then Jim slips off to his room, claiming he has things to do.

When he is alone, Jim sits on his bed and sings quietly to himself, "Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday dear me.  
Happy birthday to me..."


	7. XIII : 2

When Jim was thirteen, he got his very first taste of outer space.

* * *

Five days after his hearing and he still can't wrap his head around the fact that he is going to get out of Riverside. Five days that have been spent without the company of Frank.

Overall, Jim has had a rather nice five days.

The morning of the sixth day brings a flurry of activity upon the Kirk house, filled with last-minute packing and planning. Finally, the two inhabitants rush out the door, pack up the car, and head off to the Shipyard.

To Jim, the Riverside Shipyard looks huge and imposing, filled with a cornucopia of different people (and aliens, too), rushing around trying to get to their shuttles. As he stares in awe at all the commotion, his mother has to all but drag him over to his shuttle, where Andrea stands, greeting the new (and even some returning) 'campers'. As a consequence of his wandering gaze, Jim very nearly walks right into his mom, not noticing when she stopped.

Noticing (finally) that she stopped, Jim turns to his mother to see that there are tears in her eyes as she stares down at him, and can only hope that she isn't having another 'episode'.

Thankfully, Winona Kirk is still seeing her son as she kneels down and pulls him into a tight hug, much like she had after many of his more dangerous and worrisome escapades. Still not entirely used to this type of support coming from his mother, Jim slowly raises his arms to return the embrace, deciding to simply enjoy the moment while it lasts.

"Oh, Jimmy," she whispers in his ear, "I'm going to miss you so much! I promise, Jimmy, I'll call you so often you'll get sick of me! Things will be better, I swear."

All Jim can do is nod in response, trying to keep himself from getting his hopes up too high at the thought of a future where his mother never saw ghosts and could stand to look at him for more than ten minutes at a time.

After a long, quiet moment, she finally pulls away, resting her hands on his shoulders to say, "I know this is supposed to be a punishment, but please, Jimmy, try to enjoy yourself, okay? You're going all the way off to another planet."

Smiling a little, Jim nods and says simply, "Bye, Mom, I'll miss you," before he grabs his bags and heads into the shuttle, turning his smile on Andrea as he passes her.

After he puts away his bags, Kirk begins to look for a free seat. The one he finds is right next to the window, and in a row that is, as of yet, empty. Not a minute later, a brunette boy, around Jim's age, sits down, introducing himself as he goes with an extended hand. "Hi, I'm Michael Daily, d'you mind if I sit here?"

"Of course not," Jim replies, taking the boy's hand. "I'm James T. Kirk. But everyone always calls me Jimmy."

Michael smiles at Jimmy, acknowledging, "Jimmy, then. Have you been to Camp Green Lake before? I don't remember seeing you around before."

"Nope, this is my first time. How long have you been going for?" Jim is curious; he didn't exactly believe Andrea when she told him that people actually decided to go back of their own volition.

"Well, the first time, it was for three months, and then I got to go home. But then I decided to come back, so here I am!"

Before Jim can continue the conversation, a voice reverberates throughout the ship. "Okay, folks, this is your Captain speaking. We have been cleared for takeoff and will be leaving for the spacedock momentarily. Please make sure your seatbelts remained fastened until you are instructed to do otherwise, and have a great flight."

With that warning, the shuttle lifts off and begins its ascent. As he looks out the window, Jim sees his mother, standing below him, waving as the shuttle rises. Hoping that she can still see him, Jim waves goodbye, and watches as the blond woman shrinks, until he can no longer distinguish her within the mob of specks gathered within the Shipyard.

As soon as she is out of sight, Jim turns his gaze upwards, watching, fascinated, as they rise towards the sun. The next time he looks down, Jim can see the curve of the Earth, and he can almost understand why his mom always runs away to space, despite the fact that it took her husband away from her. He can see all of North America out his window, and the planet below him is framed by distant stars, all shining brighter than he has ever seen them while he was actually _on_ the planet.

"Amazing, isn't it?" a voice next to Jim asks, contemplative.

Without turning back to Michael, Jim nods as he lets out a dazzled, "Yeah."

The rest of the flight to the spacedock passes in relative silence, with Jim unable to tear his eyes away from the mystifying view and his companion playing games and reading on his PADD.

When the shuttle lands, all of the kids are ushered into the shuttlebay, where Andrea calls for everyone's attention. "Alright, guys, the flight to the colony is going to last about a week, so you'll all be assigned quarters – and allowed roommates. We are lucky enough to have the _U.S.S Odyssey_ transporting us, so I want you all to be extra nice to the crew, okay? Once you've picked your bunkmate, find one of the counselors, and they'll assign the both of you a room. Chose wisely, and I'll see you all at dinner."

Not knowing anyone has its disadvantages, Jim decides. Looking around, he figures he might as well go with Michael, as long as the other boy doesn't have anyone else he would prefer.

Walking over to the boy he really only just met, Jim asks, with much more courage in his voice than he was actually feeling, "Hey, Michael, do you wanna be my roommate?"

He does _not_ hold his breath until Michael finally answers, "Sure, we can room together." Of course he doesn't. That would be silly and childish and just plain not cool. Ten year olds did stuff like that. He is _thirteen_, that is _much_ too old to be caught acting so immature.

* * *

"I should have known I'd find you here."

Jim turns from the window of the Observation Deck, smiling at Michael as the brunette joins him in the room. "I like it up here," he admitted quietly, "it's… peaceful."

Nodding, Michael adds, "Yeah, and the view's pretty spectacular, too."

For a few quiet, still moments, the two gaze upon the impressive panorama together, enjoying the calm silence and the view.

Finally, the silence breaks. "You missed dinner again, Jimmy. Andrea was worried."

Frowning, Jim begins, "It's not _that_ –" then his eyes take in the clock reflected in the glass. "I guess I did… Sorry, I was thinking, and I lost track of time."

"It's okay, I did pretty much the same thing my first time on an actual starship, too. There's just nothing like it."

Jimmy nods in acknowledgment, allowing a content silence to pass between the two. He stares out at the myriad of stars, trying to guess which one they are headed towards. There are so many stars, though, it is hard to pick out just one.

At that moment, staring out at the stars, Jim is filled with a rush of emotion. He feels, deep in his soul, that this, space, was where he _belongs_. He knows it with such certainty that it scares him, a little.

But there is no denying it; in space, looking out at the stars, is the one place in his life that has actually felt like home.


	8. XIV

When Jim was fourteen, everything went to hell.

(Even if he didn't know it, yet.)

* * *

Jim _thrives_ at Camp Green Lake.

He is put in advanced classes, where he is challenged by the work, rather than bored with it. He is surrounded by people who don't think of him as just a hero's son; they all see him for him. He is even making friends, which is a new experience for him - the other kids tend to hate you when they realize that you are twice as smart as they are.

The kids here are all in the same situation as him, too. Granted, none of them have had to put up with an absent mother, dead father, missing brother, and an abusive step-father, and none of them have driven a car off of a cliff (_that _ story had been requested a few times, actually), but he connects with them, nonetheless.

For the first two weeks, his Mom keeps her promise and calls every day with news from home (she is going to be staying planetside to help design Starfleet's newest flagship and divorced Frank as quickly as she could) and to find out how he was doing, as well.  
"I miss you, Jimmy, I really do. The house is so empty, now, with you gone."  
"I miss you, too, Mom, but I really like it here." Jim is almost ashamed of how much he is enjoying his time at Camp Green Lake, when his mom is stuck at home missing him. Almost.  
"Oh, Jimmy, I'm so glad. You know I just want you to be happy."  
"Yeah, I know. I-"  
In the background, a dog begins to bark, and Winona tears her gaze away from Jim with a hastily uttered, "I'm sorry, Jimmy, I have to go - something's come up. I love you, and I'll call you again soon."  
Before Jim can reply, the transmission line cuts out.  
From that point, her transmissions decrease, coming twice a week, then only once, and eventually down to once or twice a month. The conversations are nice, as always, but his mom always seems distracted by something, and more than once quickly shuts down the transmission with little to no warning.  
Much to his own surprise, Jimmy finds that he doesn't mind the decrease in transmissions from home too much. Sure, it is nice to see his mom, it always will be, but Jim is beginning to find other things to do with his time than sit around waiting for his mom to call. Jim finds himself hanging out with Michael and his friends, playing games and talking and going exploring in the woods whenever they get the chance. Finally, he is allowed to act like a normal fourteen year old.  
He and the other boys spend their time hanging out, and despite their differences in background and personalities, they find that they all had one interest in common: girls. Granted, there aren't many girls at Camp Green Lake, but the campers are sent to the same school as the kids from the colony, which has its fair share of girls.

To Jim, they are singularly fascinating creatures, really. They somehow manage to be pretty and mysterious and often aloof and yet, somehow, he never tires of their mystery. To him, girls are creatures to be figured out, to be studied and maybe even admired.

The boys spend their days discussing which girls were the prettiest, and then which ones they would actually consider asking out. The girl that holdss the attention of all of the boys was one Cassandra StClaire, a sophomore at the local High School, and easily a year older than the oldest of the boys, three over the youngest of them.

She has brown hair and green eyes and fair skin, and even at thirteen, Jim knows that he has a thing for the color green. He finds himself staring into her eyes every time he sees her, and considering the fact that he is in four of the same classes as her, that is a lot of the time.

As far as he knows, she has no clue that he even exists, but for some reason that's all right, because he knows that she is fairly certain that all the guys on the colony know she exists, actually.

Even so, Jim is wholly unprepared for the day she starts walking towards the boys's table at lunch, a purposeful glint in her eyes. As soon as they notice her coming over, all of the boys begin arguing over which of them she is coming for, whispering, of course - if they let her hear, all of the boys will be completely mortified.

When she is within hearing distance, the arguments stop, and the group of boys try to return to a casual conversation while watching to make sure that the prettiest girl in the school is really headed to their table. They sneak covert glances over at her while complaining about this teacher and that, and how much homework they are stuck with over the weekend.

Much to their continued shock, Cassandra walks right over to where Jim and Michael are sitting, and the two hold their breaths waiting to see which of them she wants to talk to.

Smiling, she turns and asked, "You're Jim Kirk, right?"

After a moment's quiet shock, Jim nods before he affirms, "Yeah, that's me," impressing himself with how normal his voice sounds, despite his shock that Cassandra even looked at him, let alone that she knows his name. As an afterthought, Jim flashes her a smile, and notes the way she giggles in response.

"I was wondering," she begins, with the air of someone who knows that they have the attention of the whole room, and want it that way, "do you have a date to the fall dance yet?"

Still in shock that the prettiest girl in the Sophomore class is talking to him, a lowly freshman, Jimmy can only shake his head, not daring to think about where this conversation might be going.

Still smiling, she continues, "Well, then, I was wondering if you might want to go with me?"

It takes Jim a full half a minute to process what he has just been asked. As soon as the information clicks into place, Jim, aware that all the boys at his table are staring at him (some are glaring at this point, actually), puts his grin back into place and replies, "Sure, I'll go with you."

After a moment, it becomes clear that Cassandra is growing uncomfortable with having the group of boys staring at her, and she begins shifting back and forth on her feet before she offers, "So...?"

Trying to exude charm, Jim supplies, "So, I'll be picking you up around... Eight?"

Smiling, the brunette nods and replies, "That sounds good to me." Without further ado, she scribbles her address into the PADD in front of Jim, and walks back to where her friends are all waiting, clearly having watched the whole exchange.

For a moment, all the boys do is stare at the gaggle of giggling girls, trying to figure out the mysterious intricacies of the female mind. It only takes a minute for the boys to decide they are attempting something that is never going to happen, and then they all turn to stare at Jim, some grinning, others openly jealous.

For the whole rest of lunch, the boys talk about how _Cassandra StClaire_ actually asked little Jimmy Kirk out, and then whom the rest of them wanted to go with, now that Cassandra was unavailable.

When the night of the dance finally arrives, Jim is, admittedly, nervous, but shakes it off as he knocks on Cassandra's door with a grin. When she opens the door, Jim has to take a second to make sure he isn't gaping. Her hair is done up in a twist, and she is wearing a deep purple dress that he can't help but admire.

"Hey," he greets, his grin (thankfully) still in place, his voice still steady despite the way his mind has skipped town, " you look great, are you ready to go?"

She smiles in response, replying, "Yeah, but my mom insists that she needs to take pictures. You don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all," he says, grin still in place. He follows as she leads him through her house, and into the living room where her parents are watching the news. He hears the beginnings a report about crop failures somewhere before the screen is turned off and the picture taking begins.

By the end of the night, Jim can easily say that he has enjoyed himself, and he gets the feeling Cassandra did, too.

Right before the dance ends, the two step out into the cool night air to gaze at the stars. He feels strange, looking at the stars and knowing that even though they look similar, these are not the ones he knows from Earth. These stars are new, in different constellations, and since there are no big cities yet on Tarsus, he can see more of them than he ever could on Earth.

When Jim turns to look at Cassandra, he finds his breath is stolen; the sight of her silhouetted in the night is so beautiful. As she turns to look at him, he decides to listen to his instincts and kiss her.

It isn't perfect, by any means, and it isn't passionate and deep or anything like that. It is simply a chaste little kiss, but somehow it seems perfect for that moment.

When he gets back to his cabin that night, Jim is in the best of moods. His high is quickly ruined, however, when Michael, who left before him, tells him about how all of the crops at Camp Green Lake, the ones that they had spent months growing, have suddenly died.


	9. XIV : 2

When Jim was fourteen, he learned what it meant to be really, truly hungry.

(And you can be sure it wasn't a pleasant experience.)

* * *

By the time he wakes up in the morning, everyone at Camp Green Lake is panicking.

Well, all the campers are. The counselors are doing their very best to calm the kids, despite the fact that they're totally freaking out, themselves.

Eventually, everyone is herded into the mess hall, where Andrea calls for attention. "Alright, everyone, it's time to listen up! No one's really sure exactly what happened, but there is some sort of a fungus that is killing all of the crops. Don't worry, though, we have plenty of backup stores, and the colony is sorting out rations as I speak. Someone has even called Starfleet, so there's no need for all this panic. Everything is going to be okay." Although she is clearly trying to sound confident, Andrea's unspoken 'I hope' rings loud and clear to Jim.

He can see, by glancing around the room, that everyone holds the same worried expression, despite assurances that everything is going to work out in the end.

He wonders what good calling Starfleet can do. In his experience, all they've ever done is get his Dad killed and take his Mom away. Who will they take from his life next? His counselors, whom he has grown to respect over the months? His friends?

Or will Starfleet actually do something right, for once? Will they get there with plenty of time and find a cure for the fungus?

Part of Jim longs to believe that Starfleet will save the day, but there is a voice in the back of his mind that keeps counting off all of the times Starfleet played a hand in ruining his life, and the more he tries to ignore it, the louder the voice gets.

After about a week, everything seems to quiet down, and everyone starts to relax, too. His calculus class stops figuring out different ways to ration the stores, his history teacher stops going on about all of the great famines and the resulting deaths, and people stop taking the bare minimum of food at lunch.

While Jim knows the danger has not passed, he finds he cannot stop himself from going into the woods one day, heading off to explore with Michael, rather than sitting around and worrying about the future.

The boys spend the entire day in the woods, and when they come back at dinner time, the camp is eerily empty.

A cold wind sends a shiver down Jim's spine as he asks, "Where is everybody?"

Michael shakes his head in shock, not entirely sure how to react to the situation. "I don't know, Jimmy," he replies quietly, his eyes fixed on something just behind the other boy, "but I get the feeling they didn't decide to take a trip to town."

Frowning, Jim turns to see what Michael is staring at. When he finally spots it, his heart begins to race. The cabin nearest them is missing its door, as though it has been forced open, as are all of the cabins in the row. He runs toward the nearest one, rushing inside to see the state of complete disarray, far worse than even the messiest of cabins ever was.

"What do you think happened?" Jim nearly jumps when he hears Michael's voice from behind him. He was so focused on the mystery of what had happened that he hadn't even heard his friend come in.

"I don't know, Michael, but I get the feeling it has something to do with the famine - and that it wasn't good."

The two stand in the cabin for a minute longer, not knowing what to think, before Jim finally leads the way out, heading to the camp's office with a determined gait.

When they get there, Jim immediately takes in the chaos of the office and the obvious signs of a struggle before he makes his way over to the nearest whole, working computer. Within a minute, he is in the security system and has found what he is looking for - the surveillance footage from earlier that day. As Michael comes over to join him in front of the monitor, they watch in horror as troops marched into the camp, going into the bunks and dragging kids out, kicking and screaming. The boys watch as the very kids they spent the past year with are identified and sorted; some are dragged off by more soldiers, while others are told that they can go to their families, where they will be allowed to stay until Starfleet comes with the emergency supplies.

Jim frowns, wondering what will happen to those who were dragged away. With a few more clicks of the mouse, he is in the government's computer systems, where he gets his answer. Quite frankly, it almost makes him physically ill.

The files detail that there is only enough food for half of the colony to survive until Starfleet shows up, and that Kodos decided to take it into his own hands which half would live.

With a kind of macabre curiosity, Jim clicks on an unmarked link on the bottom of the page, wondering what more there could possibly be to say on the matter. As soon as the page loads, Jim wishes he hadn't clicked.

There, on the screen, is a list of names, each with a sentence or two after it in italics. On the list he sees names such as Tom Leighton, a boy from the cabin next door, and Cassandra StClaire, whose families apparently had a history of Trisomy-21. He skims the list, wondering how many of the people he has grown to like have been sentenced to their deaths. He sees Michael's name on the list, and is ineffably glad they decided to check out the forest. He sees the names of at least ten of the other boys he has grown close to during his stay at Camp Green Lake, all sentenced to their deaths. Then he sees his own name.

Before he fully realizes what he is doing, Jim is throwing the computer at the nearest wall, and he watches with a strange satisfaction as the screen shatters on impact. Behind him, Michael jumps in surprise, and Jim shakes himself out of his daze. He has to remind himself that he is not the only one who is supposed to be dead.

After a moment of silence, Michael works up the strength to ask, his voice full of fear, "What are we going to do, Jim?"

Listening to a voice in his head that sounds kind of like Sam's, Jim answers firmly, "We're going to find all the food we can, and then we're going to find somewhere to hide. We'll find somewhere out of the way and stay hidden until help finally arrives, and then we will let the Starfleet people handle the rest."

Michael can only nod in response, hoping that Jim knows what he is doing.

* * *

"Who goes there?" Jim frowns as he hears the familiar voice. It's been two months since he last heard that voice; its owner is supposed to be dead.

"Tom," he starts, cautious, "Tom Leighton, is that you?"

Sure enough, Tom steps out from behind a bush across the clearing from Jim, exclaiming, "Jimmy? Is it really you? Did you really survive this long?"

"Yeah, I did. Actually, there's a bunch of us, now, surviving. You can come back with me, if you want," Jim offers lightly, as though he is simply inviting Tom over for a game of poker. Then he remembers the gravity of their situation, briefly forgotten in the joy of seeing another of his friends thought to be dead. "Wait, how do I know you're not working for Kodos in exchange for food? How do I know you're not going to rat us out as soon as you see where we're staying?"

"You don't," Tom answers honestly. "But you can't really think I would rat you out, can you? Not after everything we did together. Look, I'll even give you all of the food that I've managed to save up."

It takes another ten minutes before Jim finally agrees to let Tom come back with him. When they return to the cave Jim discovered within two weeks of running into the woods with Michael, Jim calls as he enters, with a grin on his face, "Hey, everyone, look who I found!"

* * *

A week later, it happens.

Jim is out looking for food when he hears a young voice cry out in distress.

"Please, somebody, somebody help me! Please!"

Running, Jim moves towards the source of the cries, his face contorting in disgust as he sees two soldiers dragging off a young boy, no more than eight or nine years old.

"Hey," he calls, drawing attention to himself as he runs in. "Get your hands off of him, you bastards!"

Before he can do anything, one of the soldiers grabs him, too, and he finds himself being dragged off to who-knows-where, kicking and screaming until he has no energy left to even lift his head and see where they are going.

When they finally stop, Kirk notices that they are in what looks like a throne room, or something close to it. As he starts paying more attention to his surroundings, Jim hears one of the guards who brought him in say, "We found these two in the Eastern Forest. We were able to identify this one as Kevin Riley, who was on The List. The other one tried to come running to his rescue, so we took him, too. We still haven't gotten a positive ID on him yet, but Jones is working on it as we speak."

"Bring the boy to me," a deep voice commands. When Jim hears the voice, he immediately thinks of the villains from those classic Earth movies. You know, the ones who get _this_ close to defeating the hero and finally winning, but then they stop to monologue and the hero inevitably wins.

"Yes, Sir!"

As the guards drag him across the room, Jim focuses his glare on the floor, not daring to look up at the man who sentenced him to his death without a thought, without even learning his face. The man who is the reason Jim is hiding out in the forest with fifteen others, struggling to survive on their own when the oldest of them isn't even sixteen yet.

When the guards stop Jim lurches in their grips, unable to fight the momentum, and without lifting his gaze he can see the legs of a chair and a pair of feet in front of him.

"Look at me," the voice commanded.

Partly out of defiance, and partly because he honestly doesn't have the strength to lift his head, Jim continues attempting to burn a hole in the floor with his gaze until the guards yank his head by his hair, doing the job for him.

He has been expecting one of those classic villains. You know, tall, dark hair, eyes as black as coal, possibly with too much muscle, definitely with an evil mustache. Instead, he sees a man with reddish-brown hair, of average build, and cold brown eyes that are examining him with a kind of detached interest.

He does have the typical evil facial hair, though.

"Who are you?" There is a hint of curiosity mixed in with the disdain in his voice; the need to know who this is who dares to defy him.

But Jim will be damned if he lets another self-important asshole push him around. Not now that he is finally free of Frank. Rather than comply, as most would, Jim summons up every ounce of disgust in his body and spits right in Kodos's face.

Jim does his very best to forget everything that happens between then and the moment he grabbed Kevin and made his escape, but he only barely manages to block it out through sheer stubbornness, the ghosts of angry hands haunting him despite his best efforts.

Speaking of which, Jim forces himself to keep running, despite how tired and sore he is. He tries to focus on getting Kevin back to the cave, where everyone is surely waiting for him, safe and sound, like always.

But will they really still be there? How long has he even been gone? Was it mere hours? Or was it days? A week? Have they simply assumed he was captured and killed and moved on?

In the midst of running, he stumbles, catching himself before he falls, but only barely. As he forces himself to keep moving, Jim's stomach clenches painfully, a reminder of why he has to keep going.

If he can just keep moving, for a little longer, he can get them to safety; to food.

Kevin remains silent throughout their journey, giving Jim the time to think things through, to try and figure out what is going to happen now that Kodos knows he is hiding – and in the Eastern Forest, too. They will have to be even more careful when they go out to find food, and maybe they'll even have to move to a new location altogether.

And yet, running for his life, with Kevin attached to his back, Jim feels more alive than he has since he drove the car off of the cliff and landed himself on the damn colony. He can hear his heart racing, each beat echoing in his ears, and he can practically feel the adrenaline pumping through him. He focuses on these sensations, ignoring the hunger pains for just a moment; just moment where he feels completely alive.

It's spectacular, it is amazing, it is exhilarating, it is – it is the cave, dead ahead. Quickly, Jim glances behind him, looking and listening for signs that someone is following him. Although he sees none, Jim summons the strength to run the perimeter once, just to be sure, before he slows and knocks the familiar rhythm on the stone in front of him.

After only the slightest hesitation, the stone rolls away to let out a swarm of other children, crowding around Jim, pulling him back into the cave with them as their excited exclamations all blend together.

He catches bits of cries, "I knew you'd come back," and "Where were you?" and "Did you bring back any food?" among the babble, but it is nearly impossible to tell who says what.

He has to fight to keep from flinching away from their touches; he _knows_ these people are safe, he knows they will not hurt him, and yet he still feels the ghost of angry hands burning into his skin. Still, he is James Tiberius Kirk, and he will not let an asshole like Kodos ruin what he has with these kids.

Once everyone calms down and backs off a little, Jim helps Kevin down, careful not to cause him further injuries. The kid is staring around, wide-eyed, as though he did not truly believe they would make it to safety.

It is as he is setting Kevin down that Michael comes forward, ushering the younger kids back to whatever they were doing before Jim's oh-so-exciting entrance.

Not a moment later, Tom approaches with a first aid kit in hand and begins taking care of their injuries, Kevin first, then Jim.

It isn't even until Tom is cleaning up Kevin that Jim even feels his injuries.

* * *

"Jim, you've got to eat."

"Has everyone else had their share yet?"

Michael's eyes dart to a point just over Jim's left shoulder, clearly avoiding eye contact. "…Not exactly. We handed it all out, but everyone decided they weren't hungry and insisted that their food go to you."

Jim frowns. "No. They have to eat; _make_ them eat. There's no reason for them to starve for my sake. Besides, you know my rule. I can't eat until everyone else has."

He does his best to hide his grimace as his stomach painfully protests its emptiness. He can't eat, not yet. Not until he knows everyone else has been fed. So what if that means he goes without food for a few days? What kind of a leader would he be if he let those in his care starve while he eats every night? Wouldn't that just make him every bit as bad as Kodos?

The next time his stomach clenches painfully, Jim can't hide the grimace, nor can he hide the pained groan that escapes him as he doubles over.

Michael frowns in concern. "Look, Jim, have half of my share. You can't pretend that you don't need the food. And it's not like I'll go without – I'll still get half, unless you'll admit that you need it all."

Jim can't honestly say how long it takes for him to agree, but when he finally does, the sacrifice that he knows everyone was willing to make for him makes the meager offerings taste like the finest feast in the galaxy.


	10. XIV : 3

When Jim was fourteen, help finally came.

(About six months too late)

* * *

The shovel is too heavy in his hands, the dirt too tightly packed for this sort of thing, the air too cold, the wind too harsh. And still, _nothing_ is going to stop him from doing this, not even if Kodos himself shows up will he stop. Not with everything he's been through already.

He puts all of his energy into the task, working alone despite various offers of assistance. The job is his, though, and his alone, the same way the blame is his and his alone.

His movements are stiff and jerking, almost violent, as he digs. He keeps digging until the hole is as deep as he was tall, and only then does he start on making it wide enough. It is the only way he could actually do it - one step at a time. If he thinks about his task as a whole, he just might fall apart at the seams.

Every so often, someone comes to check on him, not even bothering to try and hide it with a false pretense. They are all clearly worried about him, but Jim resolutely insists that he is fine, continuing to dig despite his fatigue. Eventually, Michael shows up. Again.

"Jim, I get that you want to do this on your own, I do, but you've got to take a break sometime. If you keep going on like this, you're going to collapse from exhaustion!"

"You don't get it, Michael! I _can't_ stop! Not if I want to be able to keep myself from falling apart..." After his confession, Jim straightens up and returns his focus to his task, not daring to allow his mind to wander any farther.

He is so intensely focused on continuing to dig that he almost doesn't notice when Michael jumps into the hole with him. "Wh-what are you doing?"

"Did you really think I'd just let you keep going all on your own? I'm your friend, Jimmy, and I'm here to help. What kind of a friend would I be if I just let you do this by yourself? You're not alone, you know."

Jim sighs, knowing resistance would be futile. "I have to do this," he starts.

"Alone. I know, I know. But would Jeff really have wanted you to work yourself to death? I don't think so."

The look on Michael's face is so earnest and concerned that Jim can't bring himself to refuse the help. A part of him even knows that soldiering on alone would not have ended well.

The two work in silence, and, though Jim hates to admit it, having Michael help speeds up the process immeasurably. The pair are done before dusk and, despite Michael's suggestion, Jim insists that they proceed right away. It is better to get it all done and make sure no animals decide to call the hole their home during the night.

* * *

Everyone over the age of ten is allowed to go, and before Jim even opens his mouth to ask, Tom and Emma volunteer to watch the littler ones. They gather in the small clearing that Jim occupied all morning as well as most of the afternoon. The group are unusually quiet, although they all know why.

When everyone was there, no one really knows what to do. Everyone is afraid to break the silence and ruin the moment. Quite a few people, Jim notes, keep shooting glances at him, as though they expect _him_ to start.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, almost all of them are doing it. How is he supposed to do this? How is he supposed to know what to say? Swallowing his feelings of doubt, Jim clears his throat and tries to find the right words. "Jeff... Jeff was..." After a couple more tries, Jim closes his mouth and swallows thickly, all eyes on him as though he holds the answers. "Jeff was one of the nicest guys I have ever met," he finally starts, feeling entirely too cliché in his word choice. "He never hesitated, even for a moment, when it came to helping someone else. There were a few nights when he gave all of his food to others who were still hungry, and then tried to hid it from me. He always gave me the best advice, even when I was too proud to ask for it. What I guess I'm trying to say is... he will be missed."

* * *

Jim is the last one to head back to what the kids had so fondly dubbed "the secret base." He always goes last, making sure that no one follows them and finds their hideout.

Really, he probably should have seen the guards coming. He probably would have, too, if his mind hadn't been on Jeff and everything else that went down in the past six months.

When they grab him, he lets out a yell that warns the others of the trouble and has them running back to hiding. On reflex, he lashes out with hands and feet, trying to inflict enough damage on his assailants that he can possibly escape. Unfortunately, these men are at least twice his size, and well-fed on top of that, and they manage to restrain him with minimal effort.

The one on his left is limping as they leave, though, so Jim counts that as a point for himself.

* * *

If he weren't being held up by the guards, Jim would have curled up on himself as his stomach clenches in hunger. He refuses to say a word, though, not a cry of pain nor an admission of defeat. He doesn't know how long he was kept in that damn cell, it could have been minutes or hours or days or weeks for all he knew, before the guards came for him again.

It doesn't really matter, though. All that matters is that he is being dragged down the dark, labyrinthine hallways, headed towards some mystery location. When they finally stop, Jim notes that they are once more in Kodos's grand hall, and Jim counts eight other people in the room with him - people, not soldiers, there is a difference - and then he hears _that voice_, cutting through the quiet din of the weak struggles of those captured, that voice which keeps him from sleeping, which haunts him even when he is awake.

"The revolution is successful. But continued survival depends on drastic measures. Your continued existence represents a threat to the well-being of society. Your lives mean slow death to the more valued members of the colony. Therefore, I have no alternative but to sentence you to death. Your execution is so ordered, signed Kodos, Governor of Tarsus IV."

The words are said with such condescension and enmity that Jim can barely stand it. As the guards shify suspiciously, he begins to realize what the bastard is planning.

As the guards raise their guns, the ornate doors at the front of the room burst open and men and women in uniforms that are _quite_ familiar to Jim swarm into the room, phasers drawn, causing the scene to fall into chaos.

By the time everything is sorted out, Kodos has somehow escaped, but the Starfleet officers have all of his men clustered in one corner of the room, disarmed and under constant guard, while the group of nine survivors huddle together in another corner, some trying to explain to the officers what was happening, exactly.

An officer with long blond hair in a gold uniform is handing the food out, her voice soft as she warns against eating too quickly, or too much.

Jim hasn't touched the piece of bread that was handed to him; he just stares at it for a moment before slipping it into his pocket; he has to bring it back to share with the others.

He starts moving toward the exit, doing his best to not be seen, when he hears a man in a blue shirt speaking into a communicator. "- Just a goddamn kid! What the hell was that bastard thinking, sentencing a fucking kid to face a firing squad?"

Jim manages to start walking again, heading towards the door once more when he sees a red uniform in his way. He looks up slowly to meet the eyes of a brown haired man with a cautious expression on his face. "Hey, kid, where are you going?"

Really, Jim doesn't have anything against this man; it's Starfleet that he hates. Still, he can't keep the bitterness out of his voice. "I'm _leaving_, because wherever Starfleet goes, there's trouble, and I have better things to do than sit around here doing nothing." His gaze flickers to the door, wondering if he can trust these people enough to tell them that there are _more_ starving children on this stupid rock.

"Look," the man says, a concerned and sincere expression now taking over his face, "it's dangerous out there. I can't just go around letting kids wander around this colony when food is so scarce. You could get hurt out there. Now, how about you tell me where we can find your parents? I'm sure they're worried about you."

Jim snorts and answers derisively, "One's dead, and the other is back on Earth, last I heard, but that was before this place went to hell, so she could be anywhere by now."

The ensign looks confused. "If your parents aren't on the colony, where are you so eager to get to?"

"Why should I tell you?" Somehow, Jim feels safer after retreating behind his mask of insolence and defiance. "You're just another idiot from _Starfleet_! All you guys ever do is make everything worse!"

He makes a valiant effort to storm off, he really does, but the ensign is quick to grab him by the shoulders, holding him in place. "Look, I am under strict orders not to let _anyone_ out of this room unsupervised. So, unless you have a damn good reason to leave, you're staying here with me."

Jim huffs indignantly. It figures, really. All Starfleet ever does is show up too late and get in the way of things that actually need to happen. Why should now be any different, really?

* * *

Jim sighs as they finally reachthe clearing. He ignores the uniformed men and women behind him, moving to the secret entrance of the cave and tapping out the equally secret knock. Really, the younger kids had had too much fun with it all.

As soon as the makeshift door opens, the kids come swarming out to engulf Jim in a massive hug before he can even get one word in. It is Michael who finally notices their unexpected guests, and he quickly steps forward protectively. "Who the hell are you guys?"

"It's okay, Michael," Jim reassures. "These guys are Starfleet. They say they're here to get us off this rock." Okay, so there is still a lot of bitterness and incredulity in his voice, but it isn't his fault that every interaction with Starfleet he has ever had results in someone's untimely death. He is allowed to hold a grudge.

Still, there is no way in hell he is going to reject an offer to get everyone fed and off of Tarsus IV.

* * *

_(Really, this chapter is just an expression of my Secret Love Affair with page-breaks.) Tell me what you thought?_


	11. XV

When Jim was fifteen, he finally made it home.

(No little bit worse for the wear.)

* * *

The four ships that arrived are to take the surviving families to the nearest space station so Starfleet can figure out what to do with them. Each of the surviving children, having no guardians left from Tarsus IV, are assigned to a crew member of the various ships, to be looked after until they can be sent home.

While all of the children are malnourished and underweight, those with the most severe cases are restricted to Medical to begin re-gaining their strength.

* * *

When Jim learns of the plan to split them up, he yells at everyone who passes by his bed, demanding to speak with whoever is in charge.

Even from his place in a back corner of the Medical Bay, Jim manages to draw the attention of half the crew.

By the time the Captain makes his way down, the CMO managed to clear the area of all unnecessary personnel, with a fair amount of threats and glares.

"I hear you have something to say to me," Captain Bullock says blandly, as if Jim has been waiting patiently the whole time.

"You can't do this!"

Bullock nods slowly. "Do what, exactly?"

"You can't separate us! Not after all we've been through! Those kids _need_ each other! Putting us on different ships is the worst thing you could ever do! Do you know what the little ones are going to think?" Jim pauses for a moment and levels Bullock with a glare. "What do you think happened to the last people who suddenly disappeared on them?"

"What do you propose we do instead, mister Kirk?" Bullock's gaze is steady, unflinching; he is waiting for an answer.

"Didn't you hear me? Keep us all together. There's plenty of room on this ship for thirty kids, and everyone knows it. There's no reason we can't all be on the same ship, especially considering how much more relaxed the younger ones will be because of it."

Bullock gives a sharp nod before he turns and makes his way towards the doors, calling behind him, "I'll see what arrangements can be made. I make no promises."

By the time the captain is out the doors, Jim is determining the best way to get a PADD and supervise the whole process. A message from "the Admirals" certainly can't hurt the situation, either.

* * *

No one is surprised when Jim's kids make their way into the Med Bay within three hours of his tantrum. By the time the CMO is making his evening rounds, all of the children are gathered around Jim's bed, sitting on various surfaces, listening to him recount tales of valor and adventure, of various levels of validity.

He hovers at the edge of the cluster, listening to the tale of Captain America, who started out as nothing more than a skinny kid who got beat up all the time, and died one of Earth's mightiest heroes.

When Jim finishes the tale (one with cryogenic sleep and outdated tech and too many bad guys and adventures to count) the kids are all silent for a long minute.

Eventually, one of the little ones pipes up. "Jimmy? Was Captain America real?"

The smile that graces Jim's features is not condescending, only warm and fond as he answers, "Well, Zoe, you'll never learn about him from the history books, but that doesn't mean he's not real. I had to learn about him from the old comics and vintage disks, but he feels pretty real to me."

* * *

By the time the ships dock at the space station, almost all of Jim's kids (as the entire crew has taken to calling them) are out of the Med Bay beds and instead crowding around Jim's.

One of the Admirals has flown out to meet them, in order to get first-hand accounts of the events on Tarsus IV. All nine who were rescued from Kodos' final execution are to be brought in for interviews, as if making them re-live such traumatic events will do anyone any good.

Captain Bullock, on learning of this decision, sends his least favorite crew member to inform fetch Jim when the time came. The unfortunate bastard has a hard time convincing Jim's kids that he will return in one piece, and an even harder time getting Jim to agree once he leanrs what was expected of him.

"No! You can't make me do it! I'm not leaving these guys for that level of bullshit! The Admiralty can figure out what happened from everyone else, they don't need me to tell them where they fucked up!"

By the time they get Jim in front of the Admirals (and Bullock decided not to ask how that was accomplished - plausible deniability and all) Jim has few words left.

He looks up at the Admiral sent to deal with "The Issue," a graying, balding man steadily working his way towards a paunch, and has to resist screaming about the idiocy of it all. Still, this man is technically his mom's boss, and however much he used to wish she'd be home more, he doesn't want it to be because he got her fired.

"You wanted to see me?"

The Admiral (and Jim really can't find it in him to give two shits what the man's name is) frowns at him from across the desk for a disconcerting minute. "Yes, Mr. Kirk, I am here on behalf of the Starfleet Admiralty, and I would like your description of the events that occurred on Tarsus IV, in as much detail as possible."

Jim scowls at the Admiral, not trying to hide his incredulity. "Why do you need the words of a fourteen-year-old kid? I wasn't even present for most of the action! Hell, I spent the past months hiding in a forest and not entirely sure why I was doing it, only aware that to be caught almost certainly meant death. I was rescued less than two weeks ago, and I still haven't had the chance to talk to my family and let them know that I'm even _alive_. Forgive me if giving you a repeat of information you already have is not my number one priority."

The man is not impressed. "Mr. Kirk, every account of the events is vital. The more perspectives of the events we can gather, the more precisely we will be able to pinpoint the root of the Issue." And damn if Jim can't _hear_ the capitalization there.

No matter how many times he tries to tell himself it isn't worth getting mad at the Admiral, he can feel the anger welling up in his gut, practically begging him to start yelling. Still, he keeps his calm façade, if only for a little longer. "You want to know what happened? All of the plants died out, and Kodos decided there weren't enough stores to feed everyone until help arrived - because Someone decided it wasn't a high enough priority to respond with any haste. Kodos, ever the rational, smart man, decided that the only solution was to kill off half the population - preferably those with a family history of undesirable diseases. I ran the fuck away. I found other runaways. We stayed together until I stupidly got myself caught. I was about three seconds away from death when your people finally showed up. There. Are you happy? Did you get everything you needed?" He can't keep the snark out of his voice at the end, and has to force himself not to enjoy the way Admiral Asshole's eye twitch as he grips desperately to his calm veneer.

* * *

"Oh, Jimmy! Thank God you're alright!"

The relief in his mom's voice is palpable, and Jim can't help smiling back; no matter how much stress she may have added to his life, he has missed her over the months of hunger and hiding.

"You know me, Mom. I'm always alright."

"Oh, Jimmy, I've missed you! I can't believe you had to go through that! Do you know when you'll get back? I'm off-planet right now, but if you give me a date, I can get leave - they owe me that much."

"They haven't told me anything, but I'll try to find out. As far as I can tell we're gonna be stuck at this space station for the foreseeable future."

* * *

When they eventually leave the station, the kids are divided up by the quadrants they're from, which is a necessary evil in most of their eyes.

Before leaving, Jim makes sure each and every one of them knows how to get in touch with him, for any reason. "And if you don't keep in touch, I'll hack into Starfleet's files and track you down myself! Don't leave me hanging, okay?"

By the time he is walking up to the transporter pad that will take him to his ship, twelve others in tow, Jim is having second thoughts about letting them leave. It is only the comforting presence of Michael at his side that keeps him from going over to re-check that all of the others are safe and sound.

The trip back to Earth feels about twice as long as it actually is.

* * *

Jim still isn't allowed out of Medical un-supervised, but the others come to visit him every day with stories about their visits to Engineering and the Bridge and the observation deck.

The day they finally concede and let him explore without supervision, he makes his way there and sits down on the floor, staring out at the stars as they blur past. Somehow, the vast, full, emptiness of space calms him.

He can't say how long he spends staring out the windows, nor can he recall the number of times he is asked to check in via communicator (Bullock had insisted, if he was going to be out of the Med Bay). The time passes, but he isn't directly aware of it, enraptured by the stars as he is.

Sometimes Michael or one of the others will join him on the Deck and sit and stare as infinities pass them by. Other times he explores the ship with them, listening as they detail all the explorations they have made already, and where they plan to explore next.

It is almost enough to take his mind off everything that happened, almost enough to distract him from the memories that keep creeping in on him whenever he lets his thoughts wander, almost enough to keep rough hands and angry voices and sharp pains and so much _hunger_ from his mind.

Almost, but not quite.

* * *

Jim knows that the IV in his arm is not there simply for hydration, or whatever they claimed on its installation.

He knows the pull of the sedatives at night, but doesn't complain. While he never would admit to needing them, a full night's rest is preferable to a night wrought with nightmares and fits of sleeplessness, and he is more than willing to feign ignorance on the matter.

He knows what he will have to re-live if he were to attempt natural sleep. He knows it well enough to accept the dreamless sleep offered by the sedatives.

He doesn't know how much longer these dreamless nights will be an option, and will take as many of them as he can.

* * *

By the time the ship finally docks on Earth, the doctors have deemed Jim only slightly underweight, a vast improvement from the emaciated state in which they found him. When he leaves, it is with strict orders to continue to eat as they have been feeding him, three full meals of the most nutritious-yet-fatty foods they can find.

The shuttle to Riverside is long, and Jim spends the first part reading the label on the bottle of sleeping pills Bullock handed him on his way out. He learns the ingredients and warnings and proper uses because his PADDs had been left on Tarsus IV and it hadn't felt right to take the ones offered by the various Starfleet officers during his journey back.

By the time he gets off the shuttle, Jim has the label memorized, and has read every scrap of paper on the transport, desperate to keep his mind focused on something, anything.

Before he can even begin scanning the crowds, his mom is there, hugging him like she never wants to let go.

As a self-respecting adolescent, Jim is tempted to draw back, but as someone who hasn't seen his mom in almost two years, he leans into the embrace and reciprocates, relieved to be back at last.

When she finally pulls away, Winona stands back and grins as she begins to lead the way to the car. "Oh Jimmy, you've grown so much! Just look how tall you are! We're going to have to get you new clothes, aren't we? Well, that's just going to have to wait until after we've had a nice, home-cooked meal..."

The whole trip back to the house, she hardly stops talking, rarely pausing to allow Jim to answer one of her various inane questions.

Jim doesn't mind, though. He is just glad to be back.


	12. XVII-XVIII

_(Warnings for het and slash - nothing graphic but it's there.)_

* * *

**Chapter 12: XVII**

* * *

When Jim was seventeen, he was done.

Done with dumb classmates and dumb teachers and dumb schools.

(Done with Riverside, Iowa, too.)

* * *

"Well, Jim, I must say I'm impressed. We haven't had anyone set to graduate this far ahead of their class - especially after you missed a whole year and a half - in a very long time." The principal has this smile on her face, as if she is personally responsible for his achievement - even though she had threatened to expel him at least five times, now. "I'll admit that your record," she gestures to the two PADDs in front of her on the desk, both filled to maximum capacity, "is rather... colorful, but no one can deny that you're a bright kid."

She pauses, as though expecting him to be bashful and deny it or thank her for all she has done.

Jim just continues to stare at her blankly as he has for the past twenty minutes, slouching in the chair across from her desk.

When it becomes clear that he is not going to reply, she shifts uncomfortably in her seat and shuffles some PADDs.

"Okay, well," she seems to be searching for a topic, but Jim isn't inclined to help her out. If it were up to him, he'd already be long gone. "Have you any plans for what you'll do next?" When the young man in front of her refuses to respond, she tries again, "Have you given any thought to colleges? I'm sure you could get in to almost any school you applied to if you tried." Still nothing. "Or what about Starfleet? You could do anything you wanted under them."

If possible, Jim's gaze and demeanor grow even more frigid at the mention of working for those bastards.

She seems to notice her mistake, quickly standing up and offering her hand before he can storm out. "Congratulations, Mr. Kirk, you are now a high school graduate. If you want to stick around, you are welcome to join your class in May for the formal ceremony. Otherwise, I hope to hear great things about you in the future."

Knowing this was the last time he would ever willingly see her, Jim quickly shakes the proffered hand, giving the woman a curt nod as he leaves the office, getting out of the godforsaken building as quickly as he can, eager to never see it again.

* * *

Okay, so maybe he should have seen that cop coming. Actually, he's a little ashamed of himself for not seeing the cop.

The Iowa roads are vast, flat expanses of land, with oncoming cars visible from miles away. How he managed to miss the cop is beyond him, but he's fairly sure he wasn't going _that_ fast – only 20-30 mph over the speed limit.

Really, it would have been a shame to get a ticket for something as frivolous as that, so Jim just speeds up his bike, laughing at the rush of freedom zooming down the roads gives him. He takes a random turn off and follows it as far as it goes, well aware that the cop is still following him.

When he reaches the end, Jim takes a moment to think before he cuts into the fields to his left, not entirely sure where he is trying to go. At the end of a row, he takes another left, trying to make his way back to the main road, knowing that traipsing through the corn probably has not deterred the Robocop.

Regardless, he takes a hard right when he gets to the road, pushing his bike to go as fast as it can, to get him as far away from Riverside, Iowa as possible.

* * *

In the dim lighting of the bar, Jim can see the bodies moving to the beat of the music across the dance floor, along with the figures slumped at the bar. It's not the most high-class establishment, but he's certainly been in seedier. He can't remember what state he's in, couldn't even name where in the country this bar sits, and he likes it that way; nothing to tie him down.

He can feel it in his veins as he orders a shot of the strongest stuff they have – that pull, that itch to do something stupid or reckless or dangerous – possibly all three. He knows the night will either end with a fight or a fuck with some stranger he'll never see again, but which one it will be is anybody's guess.

As soon as the bartender slides over the shot, Jim drinks it, reveling in the burn and motioning for another one. He doesn't want to remember – not the call or the night, come morning.

Just as his next shot arrives, a gorgeous red head walks over to the bar, leaning past him to order, giving Jim a wonderful view. So it's going to be that sort of night.

He motions to the bartender and calls out, "I'll have what she's having – and hers is on me."

When she turns to him with a raised eyebrow, he gives her a rakish grin and holds out a hand, "Jim Kirk. You're just too stunning to ignore, …?"

His antics get him a raised eyebrow and a grin. It's a start.

* * *

Somewhere after getting the hell out of Riverside, Iowa, Jim's life turned into one long stream of constantly moving bodies – fucking, fighting, leaving, it doesn't seem to matter, as long as they are _moving_ – just like him. Always in motion, never staying still long enough to get tied down somewhere and have to _think_ about things.

No, he never wants to be still long enough to think about his mom or the transmission from Sam he got all those months ago, talking about a wife and a colony off-planet. He never wants to have to think about all the things everyone expected him to do with his life – because he is "brilliant," because he is George Kirk's son, because you're expected to grow stronger from hardships, because the world won't let him just give up, won't just give up on him.

* * *

When he pulls into town, he makes a beeline for the diner – cozy and friendly looking, and sure to have some really good pie. When he is seated with a cup of coffee and a slice of oven-fresh Apple, he turns to the waitress with a smile and asks, "I'm going to be in town for a couple of days, and I was wondering if you knew of any odd jobs that needed doing? I'm good with pretty much anything that will earn me a few credits."

The waitress, June, an aging woman, streaks of gray already in her brown hair, looks thoughtful for a moment. As she refills his coffee, she answers, "Well, I did hear Mr. MacArthur complaining about clogged gutters, and once people have seen your work, if it's any good, I'm sure they'll come to you with more jobs."

Jim smiles at her, the one that used to get him out of trouble with shopkeepers growing up, the one his mother had called his "Charming Grin" and enthusiastically replies, "Gutters are great. Anything is, really. Do you know how I can get in contact with Mr. MacArthur?"

By the time he leaves Flemington, Missouri, Jim has done all the odd jobs the three hundred person town has to offer, and on the last night there he finally finds himself in the bar, no longer afraid of sleeping with the wrong person's kid and getting driven out of town.

In the dim light of the bar, he notices a fantastic ass bent over a pool table, lining up the perfect shot, and makes his way over to challenge the group to a game of pool. Though he never really takes his eyes off the tall brunette with the muscular arms and that great ass, he easily wins the game (it's all just angles and force, he could probably win a game of pool in his sleep).

Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy (Erik, the man offered, with a winning grin and a warm shake of his hand) watches him as he clears the table for the second time, but does not offer a third game. Instead, Erik hands Jim a drink with a salacious grin, and Jim has a pretty clear idea how the night is going to end.

Still, it is more than satisfying to slide his fingers through the brown hair and pull Erik in for a long, hot kiss before they leave the bar to head back to Jim's hotel room.

* * *

He celebrates his eighteenth birthday in some bar on the East Coast – he thinks he's in New York, but he could easily be anywhere in the tri-state area – he stopped paying attention to the road signs about three hours back, simply enjoying the wind in his hair and the freedom of the open road.

He's far enough away from the a city that he doesn't have to worry about traffic, but also close enough that the population of the town is over two thousand.

Jim celebrates by getting so drunk he can barely walk, then stumbling back to his hotel room in the early hours of the morning (he picked a bar close to the hotel intentionally). He steadfastly avoided TV and radio all day, and ignored any and everyone who had something to say about remembering the Kelvin. Still, out here in this town he doesn't even know the name of easily beats birthdays back home, and he can only imagine how bad it would have been in a big city where they actually celebrate the heroism of George Kirk's actions – or some shit like that (he never listens long enough to find out what they think is so worth all the excitement).

He doesn't take anyone to bed, and he avoids fighting, drinking to forget, rather than to enjoy.

Birthdays stopped being a thing Jim _celebrated_ a long time ago.

* * *

One of the benefits of avoiding major cities is that, on nights when any sleep he gets is plagued with memories that cause him to wake shaking in a cold sweat, he can climb up to the roof, lie down, and look at the stars. On the nights when he gives up on sleep, too stubborn to fill the prescription for sleep aids that he always carries around (just in case), he lies down and stares up at the stars, searching out every constellation he knows, for the familiarity of it, for the calm that the vastness of space always brings over him.

If he finds himself in a particularly middle-of-nowhere town, he will look up and not even be able to pick out a constellation from the multitude of stars above him, too many pinpricks of light filling the sky to find a specific few.

The nights when he doesn't even try to sleep, Jim sends messages to The Survivors, catching up with everyone and pretending for their sakes (as they were surely doing for his) that he is coping far better than he actually is. He spins tales of his perpetual road trip that make it sound like something almost fun, suggests that he may settle down "one day soon" at the end of each message. Somehow, no one ever calls him out on that, but then again he never calls them out on their fallacies, either.

It's something they all understand – the aversion to settling down, the feeling that as soon as they do settle down, tragedy will seek them out and strike again.

* * *

He keeps playing chess.

It's one of the things that calms his mind when his body wants rest and his brain refuses to shut down. Mostly, he plays against a computer – on the terminals in motel rooms, on his PADD, in local libraries, anywhere.

Occasionally, he'll be driving through a town that is hosting a tournament, and though he always wins the first few rounds with ease, he relishes the challenges that the final rounds bring, and the creativity in strategy that computers always seem to lack – the hardest opponents are ones who would periodically abandon all strategy, and he always remembers that.

Mostly, he joins the tournaments for entertainment, but the cash prizes are certainly a draw, as well. Days he wins, he doesn't have to fix cars or trim hedges or paint houses.

* * *

When he finds himself headed West, Jim sends a warning message and makes his way to Utah.

By the time he arrives in Salt Lake City, it is getting dark and the city lights are on, illuminating one path back out into the desert and another up into the mountains. Jim makes his way to a familiar house and is met with Michael sitting on the front porch, waiting for him.

If not for everything they'd been through together, Jim often thinks, they would have wound up together ages ago. As it is, Michael greets him with a warm hug, and if they hold a little tighter and it lasts a little longer than is customary, well, the types of things they've been through change people. Normal societal rules don't exactly apply when you've been hiding out and starving for months, afraid for your lives. Michael, because it always pisses Jim off, rests his chin on Jim's head, never willing to let Jim forget that he's come out of puberty the taller of the two, although the gesture is far more tender than it is taunting.

The two spend the evening in their usual fashion – pretending that everything is okay and competing to see who can get the most drinks bought for them in an hour at the nearest bar (one that they've been to often enough that the bartenders all know their names and their games).

When the bar closes and they have to make their way back to Michael's house (Jim won the game, but suspected that Michael let him, the ass) they finally drop the façade, drunk enough to admit that nothing is ever as okay as they'd like.

It's long been a tradition that when Jim visits Michael, they stay in the same room, and despite how they've grown in recent years, how they've changed, precedent holds up. By the time they make it to Michael's room and are ready for bed, the two don't even think twice about climbing into the double bed together and laying together, sharing space (it's not, nor will it ever be, _cuddling_. Cuddling is for over-emotional people, okay?).

It's really only then, as they're drifting off next to each other, more than a little buzzed, yet nowhere near blackout drunk, that they allow themselves to talk about the memories they share.

Sharing space and memories and nightmares and fears, the two somehow manage to get a relatively peaceful night's sleep, and if they wake up in each other's arms, well, they don't have to tell anyone.

* * *

_(Feedback is love. And cookies. And a pocket-sized Chris Pine.) (Also: fuck it. I'm changing to present tense. The rest of the story has been adjusted accordingly.)  
_

_(**Bonus Note** - 04.04.2013 - I'm planning on making a mix for this story, at some point, and there'll be a link on my profile when that happens - keep an eye out! [I'm open to song suggestions, if you have anything you think is particularly fitting.])  
_


	13. XX

**Chapter 13: XX**

* * *

When he was twenty, Jim finally started slowing down.

(An object in motion will not change unless acted upon by an outside force.)

* * *

The late July sun is beating down at full force, has been for an hour, and even though he started working on the barn a full two hours before sunrise, he's only just finishing up at noon. It was supposed to be a simple patch job to stop a leak, but while he was up on the roof, Jim decided to give the rest of it a look, as well. If he hadn't done that, the four other potential leaks probably would have gone unnoticed until they finally sprung.

It's long, boring work, and though Mrs. McKlusky brought him water quite a few times during the day, Jim finds himself parched as he climbs down to the ground with his tools.

He picks up his shirt when he reaches it, tugging it back on before making his way to where Mr. McKlusky is sitting on the porch swing, their basset hound at his feet and a data PADD in his hands. When Jim reaches him, the older man looks up with a smile, offering him a glass of water from the table next to him as he notes, "Well, that looked like quite some work. Was the hole really that bad?"

Jim smiles easily once he's finished his water and replies, "No, I got the leak fixed up hours ago, but then I noticed a few others just waiting to spring, so I closed them up while I was up there – thought I'd save you the trouble of finding someone else to do it again in a month."

The answering smile tells him he made the right choice, easy and appreciative, with that hint of true gratification that only comes from unexpected kindness. "Well, son, you didn't have to go to all that trouble – how much extra do you want for that?"

Jim nearly flinches at the word, uttered with the genial fondness reserved for those getting on in years, but he restrains himself and waves the offer off, "It was nothing, really, there's no need to give me anything more than you already have."

Fairmont, Nebraska has been good to him, the past week, and he's been feeling that itch that drives him for the past couple of days, so Jim doesn't put up as much of a fight as he maybe should. He's been staying longer than usual, the past few towns, and even though motels are noticeably cheaper in the heartland than in the cities, he hasn't quite managed to save up as much as he's going to need to get him as far as his instincts tell him to go before stopping.

When Mr. McKlusky gets his wife outside and they both start insisting they pay him more, he can't really fight it, just resolves to spend the extra money in the town, doing his part to help the local economy, and all that.

At the bar that night he meets Ret and her partner Aaron. Her brown hair is falling in her face, but he keeps pushing it back for her, and they both keep throwing Jim these _looks_, and by the time he catches him saying something about an "agreement" Jim has a pretty good idea of how it's going to go.

He uses the extra money to settle their tab, and it's really a refreshing change of pace to go back to someone's apartment instead of his hotel room.

* * *

In October, he finds himself in a town at the base of Rendezvous Mountain, passing from Idaho to Wyoming, moving back East again.

Though there's hardly any jobs for him to do around town, he stays for a few days, taking the time to do some snowboarding and skiing because, quite frankly, he can, and it's been far too long since he has. Rather than pay for lift tickets and rentals, Jim works maintenance at the lodge, refurbishing an old lift that hadn't been in use for at least fifteen years, fixing the boiler, and anything else they needed.

Speeding down the slopes is every bit as freeing as racing down roads and highways on his bike, with the added bonus of no cops to stop him for speeding. It is alive as he's felt in a long time, careening down the mountain, avoiding the patrons and seeing how quickly he can get down the slope. Flying over jumps, he can almost forget about all of his ghosts, just for that moment, when he is weightless and above the Earth, where he belongs.

* * *

When he pulls into Brookhaven, it's approaching two in the morning, and he's lucky to find a motel with a staffed reception desk. It's cold this far into fall, even in Mississippi, and when Jim gets into his room he collapses on his bed with little bravado. His intent had been to drive all night, but for the last couple of miles it was all he could to keep his eyes open, let alone drive straight enough to avoid the attention of the 'cops.

He wakes before sunrise with a start, covered in a cold sweat from head to toe and gasping. The nightmares haven't been this bad in years, but he also hasn't given them the chance in years. Usually he's too drunk or beat up or post-coital for his brain to actually start Remembering Things, like it did tonight. He gets up and moves to the bathroom to splash water over his face, gulping down a glass while he's at it, trying to remove the taste of rotting food that he can't quite forget.

He has to stare at himself in the mirror for a couple of minutes to remind himself that it's been _years_ since he was that emaciated, that the only marks on his body right now are scars, faded from angry red to silvery white way back when his weight started to fall within the 'normal' range again.

* * *

"Hey! Stop staring at my girl's tits!"

Jim takes his eyes from the – admittedly stunning – blonde in front of him to see the bristling man storming over. He's not so bad, himself, but Jim knows it's not going to be that kind of night tonight.

"Look, I was just reading her shirt, okay? I happen to be a fan of Blackmayne, I've got all of their chips at home, and was just about to inquire about any further listening she recommends. I haven't been able to find anyone who can match their sound for years."

Mr. Insecure and Overbearing doesn't seem to appreciate Jim's running commentary, winding his arm back for a punch before the blond with great taste in music slaps him. "We've been over this, Ty, I'm not your 'girl.' You can't _own_ a person, and if you're going to react like this every time we go out, you need to grow the fuck up."

Jim watches her leave, head held high, and lets out a low whistle. He can't tell if he's relieved or not that he didn't make a pass at her – the ones with fire are always great in bed, but there's less of a chance they'll actually go for it.

As Ty gives him one last glare and sulks away, Jim sees the woman turn back and approach. She gives Jim a tense smile as she does so, and offers before leaving, "If you really are a fan of Blackmayne, you should look up Ackbar's stuff. Pick a song, any song, you can't go wrong."

When Jim gets to a console the next morning and looks up the band, he isn't surprised to find she was right. Ackbar is new, but the band has potential, and is great for blasting while he drives.

* * *

The house really hasn't changed much over the years, except for all the ways it has.

When he turns down the driveway, Jim can see the fence he painted last time he was home, chipping again already. Back behind the house, the barn door sits weirdly on its hinges, and the chicken coop wire is mangled and out of shape. The shutters, once the blue of the sea, have worn away back to the faded red of years past, and the 'car in the driveway is a new model, released in the last year, replacing the near fifteen-year-old one that had, admittedly, been on its last legs.

There's always something, each time he stops by, and though he can remember exactly how everything was when he left the first time, Jim can't actually recall each specific change that befell the house inside and out over the years. The changes pile up, though, enough that he always feels somehow _off_ when he stops home, like he doesn't quite fit in his spot, like everything is moving on without him in that most unsettling way, even when he reminds himself that he left for a _reason_.

The snow on the ground is on its way out, but within the week there'll be more to take its place. Winter won't officially start for another week yet, but if there's one constant Jim can count on, it's the weather in Riverside.

The door opens easily under his hand, and he calls out as he enters, taking in the familiar pictures on the walls, the new knickknacks on the side table. "Mom? Are you home?"

There's a muffled clanking from the back of the house, and he makes his way through the living room and down the hall to the kitchen, the source of the commotion. When he turns into the room he sees Winona, moving a smoking pan into the sink with muttered and creative curses.

Jim huffs out a soft laugh at the familiar sight and she turns, smiling when she sees him. "Jim! I wasn't expecting you for at least another hour! I was going to use that time to remove all evidence of this mishap…" She crosses the room and pulls him into a hug, squeezing harder as punishment when he starts laughing in earnest at the state of the kitchen. "I was cleaning upstairs and didn't hear the timer. I guess we're stuck with the Replicator, tonight."

This time, Jim restrains himself to a smile as he says, "Honestly, I'm not sure what I'd do if that ever changed, really."

A few days later, the vertigo starts.

* * *

_I'm planning on making a mix for this story, at some point, and there'll be a link on my profile when that happens - keep an eye out! (If you've got any song suggestions, let me know!) [There was supposed to be more to this, but I figured I'd made you wait long enough...]  
_


	14. XX-XXI

_Warnings for chronic illness and pseudoscience (because I know nothing about how medicine works now, let alone in the future.)_

* * *

**Chapter 14: XX-XXI**

* * *

When he's twenty, Jim learns a few things.

(He learns about challenges, though that's nothing new, but mostly he learns about himself.)

(He's stronger than he thinks.)

* * *

Winona tries to downplay it in front of Jim, tries to act like nothing is the matter, but she can't hide the fact that she can't even bring herself to get out of bed on the morning of Christmas Eve. It passes in time for them to celebrate the holiday, but it's back before New Year's Eve, and Jim is done listening to platitudes.

"Look, Mom. You may be right, this could be nothing, but if it's something treatable, don't you want the doctor to look at it and help you get over it faster? Besides, if it turns out to not be 'nothing' you'll be glad to know sooner, rather than later."

With a sigh, she sits at the kitchen table, gripping her mug of coffee like it's a lifeline, inhaling the steam in an action that is part habit and mostly an attempt at comfort. "Alright, Jimmy. I'll call Dr. Ross and see if she can come by tomorrow, okay? We'll get this checked out, you two can catch up, and she can settle this matter for us."

She's got that tone in her voice, the one that popped up so many times during his childhood, the one that clearly says, "I'm the adult and I know best, but I'll humor you, just to prove I'm right." Growing up, Jim always hated that tone. It still rubs him the wrong way, but he's grown accustomed to it by now. They'll just have to wait and see who's right.

They make the call at ten, don't even have to wait to speak with Dr. Ross, and get an appointment set for eleven the next day. After that it's a matter of passing the rest of the day, playing chess and watching holovids and pretending nothing is wrong.

Dr. Ross pulls into the drive five minutes early, her dark hair up in a bun, coat flaring out behind her as she walks up to the house.

Jim opens the door as she steps up to it, and offers her a smile as he says, "Dr. Ross, thank you for coming on such short notice. Come in, she's watching some old show in the living room."

As they walk in, Jim notices her looking around, taking in what's changed, and doesn't quite expect it when she says, "You know, Jim, you really don't have to call me Dr. Ross. We've known each other for far too long to stand on formalities."

Jim laughs a little. "But, Lizbeth, what if I just can't stop calling you Dr. Ross because I'm so impressed that the girl down the road I always had a crush on is now a real time, fancy doctor? I'd say it's pretty noteworthy."

When Winona sees Lizbeth, she grins. "Oh, it's so nice to see you again. I still think of you as the little girl who always sold me the scout cookies, and yet here you are, all grown up. I'm sorry to make you come out here on such short notice."

"It's my job to come out here, Ms. Kirk. It was no trouble at all. Now, let's figure out what the issue is, shall we?"

The first twenty minutes are spent going over the symptoms, explaining how long they have persisted, and taking baseline measurements. "Your blood pressure and temperature are within normal range. I have a few thoughts of possible roots of the problem, and we can do the first tests right here. We'll start with evoked potential tests, to see how your nervous system is doing. We'll figure out what's next from there."

At the start of the visual test, Jim leaves the room, leaving them to their tests while he cleans the breakfast dishes and starts in on picking up the rest of the house, too. It's mostly mindless work, and not nearly enough to stop the constant flood of /what's wrong can it be fixed what will we do if it can't how will I tell Sam?/ that's going through his head. At one he starts making lunch, and brings three servings out on a tray when it's finished. Lizbeth and his mom appear to have moved on to regular conversation now, and he receives a smile when he brings out the meal.

"I hope it wasn't too presumptuous of me to assume that you'd be staying for lunch?"

Dr. Ross laughs and smiles as she responds, "Oh, not at all, Jim. We've just been catching up for a while now, and I see no reason why we can't eat and talk at the same time."

By the time Lizbeth finally leaves, they're all caught up on her life and Jim's "Marvelous Adventures," which he altered more than a little to stop his mother worrying any more than usual. He's home now, so really her worry wouldn't do either of them any good anyway.

On her way out the door, she reminds them both, "I'll see you on Monday at the hospital for the secondary tests. Don't forget!"

* * *

"I'm not just going to let you rush into a decision like this, Jim. The situation is not so dire that you have to make any decisions right now, and refusing to stop and think never did anyone any good."

Jim sighs, agitated at the continuation of this argument. "Look, mom. You heard Dr. Ross. This isn't going to slow, and until they find a treatment that takes, it isn't going to get better, either. You've already started to have the memory loss, the vertigo, the coordination issues. How much longer before you admit you need help?"

"Now Jim," Winona admonishes, not budging an inch in the face of his stubbornness. "You know just as well as I that she said it would be months, maybe even a year or two, before it really started to impede my daily life. I am not going to let you sit around here, providing help I do not need yet! Go and visit Michael again, or something, anything is better for you than sticking around here. We both know you don't like being in Riverside for very long."

Jim stops for a moment, searching for a compromise they'll both agree to. "How about I stick around for the rest of the week, see where you need help, and all that. On Saturday we'll reassess, see how the treatments are going, and I'll either leave for a few weeks or I'll stay. If I end up leaving, we can keep doing this until you admit you need my help."

There's a pause, like she's trying to think of alternatives, before she gives him a rueful answer and concedes, "Okay, fine, Jimmy. Let's do that for now. But I promise you, I will not need your help for a long time yet."

She's got the same set look on her face that has preceded some of Jim's most elaborate and impressive escapades. This deep-seated determination is all too often attributed to his father by people who like to think they knew him, but his mom – oh, she is a force to be reckoned with.

Jim knows this compromise is the only sensible way to resolve their dispute, but as he's leaving on Saturday, he can't help wondering if all he's really done is give her a reason to hide any difficulties she may have. Still, he's going to take her suggestion and go visit Michael for the three weeks they've agreed he'll be away.

* * *

He gets into Salt Lake City three days and more than a few almost-speeding tickets later, and even though they've gone longer apart, seeing Michael relaxes something in him Jim had forgotten was even wound.

They meet up for breakfast in a diner, since Michael has to work in an hour, and though they don't have as long as either would really like, Michael manages to cut to the root of the problem.

"Jim, why are you here? Usually you stay home for a month at Christmas time!"

The answering smile is rueful as he finishes off his coffee and signals the waitress for another. "Well, it wasn't exactly my choice to leave, but it's too long a story to get into now. I'll tell you later, okay?"

He has barely let himself think the words since they came out of Lizbeth's mouth, certainly hasn't let himself consider all the implications they carry, so he has to stop himself from physically sighing in relief when Michael lets it drop. Instead, they fight over whose time it is to pay the check before Jim goes to find things to fill the day with while Michael is at work.

He explores the city, stopping in on galleries and stores and museums, whiling away the hours and keeping track of where he may want to make an extended visit later in the week.

He's at a shelter, playing with the animals when he gets a message with an address and a time for dinner. It turns out to be a local bar, filled with regulars who just want a quiet drink and some company after work, and the owners keep some damn fine local craft beers on tap. The food, though standard bar fare, tastes all the better when combined with the atmosphere and the drinks.

When they sit down, they fill the air with chitchat; Jim's trips since he last stopped in town, Michael's work between semesters. It's easy, something they've done enough times before to get into a rhythm and let the words flow.

Jim waits until he's feeling the buzz before he starts talking, the words making their way out in a rush now that they're not being choked down. "It started to become serious right around Christmas, but I don't know how long the minor symptoms were present before that – she's too stubborn about being sick to ever admit to it, you know?"

He takes a sip of his beer but otherwise doesn't wait for a response, and Michael seems to be aware of just how rhetorical that question was. "She's too stubborn about most things, really. I guess we have that in common. But as soon as the first round of vertigo passed I started insisting she set an appointment with Dr. Ross, to see what could be done. After a whole battery of tests, we finally got a conclusive answer: Multiple Sclerosis."

Michael's face becomes thoughtful, waiting to see if Jim will go on before he asks, "But that's – they have a cure for that, don't they? I remember learning about how they found a way to stop it during the remissions so that it never comes back… So why would she send you away?"

"Well, we Kirks can't ever be anything approaching ordinary, so it shouldn't surprise you to hear she's got Primary-Progressive, which doesn't go into remission, just keeps getting worse and worse." There's a look of sympathy directed his way, but it feels too much like pity to Jim, so he pushes on, "They offered up a few different treatment options. For now, we're on the one where they grow back the myelin that her immune system attacks, but they can't promise to successfully grow back as much as is destroyed, and the bi-weekly injections hurt like hell."

Michael frowns. "So she's still going to be getting worse? Aren't there any other options?"

"There're a few experimental treatments out there that the doctors mentioned, but they can be pretty debilitating and mom is determined to stay strong enough to not need my help, so we'll see how long it takes for her to give in and try one."

Michael squeezes his shoulder, conveying everything he can't quite articulate, and they let the subject drop.

Two hours and approaching triple that many drinks later, and Jim finally finds the articulation he needs on their walk back to the house.

"I think I'd be able to handle it better if we knew for sure, one way or the other. If we knew the treatments would work, or if we knew exactly how long she has left. But we don't. And it's just so much 'Hurry up and wait,' that I think I might go a little mad before the end of it. I mean –" He pauses, trying to catch his thoughts amongst all the disgruntled, warring emotions.

"When you're stuck waiting, there's nothing you can do. You can't plan for the future, because you don't know if there will be one, or when that would be. You can't do much of anything to help, because there's nothing to help with, yet. It's all tests and waiting and inconclusive results and useless treatments, and I'm so fucking done with it all. There's no way out and there's no way through it and you're just – you're just stuck in the middle with no hope of finding your way."

For the rest of the walk home, he stays quiet, and though Michael has no idea what words he could possibly say to help, the way his fingers easily entwine with Jim's go a long way towards making things better.

* * *

He spends the rest of his three weeks with Michael, leaving late in the evening two days before he's supposed to be back home. He's a bit more calm about everything after so many late night conversations about it. After that first time, they don't talk about it while the sun is up, and certainly not where anyone else will overhear.

After their time on Tarsus, their weaknesses have been something they never let anyone see, not when something so public as their heritages were used against them with no provocation.

On the drive back to Iowa, Jim blasts his music, revels in the rush of adrenaline, the sensation of flying that it always comes so close to recreating. He stops for less time than he probably should, but he's too busy trying not to worry about everything that's going to shit to really care. He'll sleep when he gets home.

When he does return to Riverside, it's to open arms and the insistence that, "Really, Jim, I've been perfectly fine," and "I told you not to worry about me, didn't I?"

The words are expected and, in and of themselves, a comfort. It isn't long before he's had dinner and is in bed, hoping that he's exhausted enough for his thoughts to shut up and let him sleep.

When he wakes in the morning, he admits to himself that they need to talk about Sam, and braces himself for the argument broaching that subject will doubtlessly produce. Still, his brother needs to know, and they can't avoid the conversation for too long – if things take a sudden turn for the worse, Sam shouldn't be finding out about it all for the first time.

He gets downstairs and starts putting breakfast together, and is just pouring himself a cup of coffee when Winona walks in, still sleep-mussed and reaching for a mug even though she has the day off. They spend breakfast catching up on the past weeks, Winona stressing how normal everything was, and Jim trying to read between the lines and see where she needs the help she'll never ask for.

They wind up playing chess in front of the fireplace, mugs of hot chocolate steaming beside them, and Jim has to remind himself that it's really only February, still. After everything the past two months have brought, it feels like it's been far longer than that.

They become increasingly laconic as they play, focusing more and more on strategy and tricks and trying their best to win.

As Jim moves a bishop, aiming for checkmate in six moves, he finally brings it up. "So, Mom. Did you figure out how you want to tell Sam, yet?"

She looks up from surveying the board and gives him an affronted look. The expression is familiar, a silent "I see exactly what you've been playing at, young man, and I am not pleased with you right now," and he just gazes evenly back. This isn't something he can back off on.

She takes his bishop with her rook before she replies, throwing off his next move. "Look, Jim. We still don't know how this all is going to work itself out. And it's not impacting anything right now. Do you really want to worry Sam just yet? He's been doing so well on that colony, and you know he'll insist on coming home over this."

"If you don't tell him, Mom, I will. He's going to be more upset if he finds out later, and you know it. He deserves to make his own choices about coming back, and we can't decide these things for him." He moves a pawn, hoping to distract her into moving her castle out of the way.

After a few more moves and tense exchanges, Winona finally relents. "Okay, Jim. I'll send him a transmission tonight, alright? But if he doesn't answer I'm not leaving a message; there's no way he's going to find out from a recording."

He knows he can't ask for any more than that, so Jim just smiles as he moves his knight and declares, "Checkmate."

* * *

At the end of the week, when Jim leaves again, they've set up rides to and from her treatments with a neighbor, the only concession Winona would agree to, and only because Jim refused to relent. He heads east, unsure where he'll go, but aware of just how long he has before he'll need to turn around again.

The conversation with Sam went… about as well as expected, and it took at least five minutes of Winona, Jim, and Aurelan working together to get Sam to agree not to take the first shuttle back to Earth. Still, when Winona still won't admit that she needs Jim to stay and help her, there's no point in Sam coming and crowding up the house, too.

For the next five months, they're more or less in a holding pattern. Jim continues to leave for three weeks, then stay for one, and though the treatments don't change, they seem to be taking their toll on her. Combined with the effects of the disease, there are some days Winona will actually admit to needing help. There's not enough of those yet for her to allow Jim to stay home longer, though, no matter how much he argues for it.

The next time he comes home, however, he knows he has to re-negotiate their agreement. She can still do all of the big things, but the number of little problems is growing exponentially and it's getting hard to ignore. It doesn't help that Winona is getting tired of all the treatments that don't even seem to be doing anything. They both know that without them it would be so much worse, that she'd have admitted to needing his help already, but that knowledge is a cold comfort when faced with a steady degeneration. For all the trouble the treatments are, it would be nice to see some improvement, for once.

It doesn't matter how many times the doctors tell them that things are moving along exceptionally, that she is doing well, that they couldn't hope for anything more, it still stings to see the declines, to see the days when the vertigo is so bad she can't get out of bed for hours.

Still, they re-negotiate to two weeks at home, two away, and that holds them for a few more months.

As the fall rolls in, though, Jim puts his foot down. His help is not needed in major ways, but he can keep up the property and the house and do all of the mundane tasks that her treatments make her too tired to do. Within a week of being home, however, they both realize he needs to get out of the house more.

He finds work with the mechanic in town, doing repairs he's been able to do in his sleep since long before he built his bike. Still, there's something about working with his hands that calms him, something about taking things apart and putting them back together so that they work better than ever before that soothes his restless urges. Sure, it doesn't require him to memorize facts and recite rules or reasons, but the work does take thought, insight, and effort.

He spends his free time re-learning this town that he escaped as soon as he possibly could. He considers going to work at the shipyard, but can't bring himself to do it, even when Mr. Cospell, who owns the garage, urges him to, insisting that he's "too damn bright to waste your days at this work." Every time he passes the shipyard, he gets this feeling that something will happen there, that he'll be a part of it, but he always shakes it off, and starts taking different routes home.

Many of the people he remembers, remember him. Some of them look like they're anticipating another Jim Kirk (TM) antic soon, one that will make up for the years the town has gone without. Others tell him how much potential he had, but don't look particularly surprised to see him back in Riverside. Almost everyone he sees gives him a look of pity whenever Winona comes up in conversation.

* * *

Sam and Aurelan come for the winter holidays, on the pretense of finally introducing her to the family in person, and no one corrects them. They decide they'll stay for three weeks, since they both have the vacation time saved, and to make up for the length of the trip.

It's weird at first, finally seeing Sam again. Jim hasn't seen him in person since the day Sam left, and though he has moved on from that, Jim never quite managed to fully integrate the Sam he sees on the vidscreens and his brother. He always liked to imagine he'd wind up the taller one someday, but he's self-aware enough not to be disappointed when Sam easily has two inches on him.

Winona waits until just after the holidays are over, half way through the visit, to make her announcement.

"I thought it'd be best to tell you all at once, in person, but I've made a decision. I've been talking with Dr. Ross, and I think I'm going to try the experimental treatments. I just can't keep doing this, and if they find one that works, even just a little, it'd be a huge help for everyone else who has it, too."

There's no argument against her decision, no reasoning with her to try and change her mind. They all know better than to try and deny her the validity of her choice, of her experiences. Still, when these treatments leave her more weak and tired than the others, it becomes hard for Jim to remember why they're going through this.

He can't imagine going through it all himself, can't see himself surviving it, can't fathom staying strong and continuing with it all. He knows he's gone through more hardships than most his age, but watching his mother stay strong, refuse to back down and admit defeat, he can see where he got it from. Their family is made of sterner stuff than most, and they will get through this. One way or another.

* * *

_Okay, so it looks like there's going to be one last chapter, complete with a little epilogue-thing. Let me know if there's anything you think is absolutely vital to that chapter, anything I missed plot- or character-development wise! Also let me know what you think about the chapter in general! (Was it worth the painfully long wait?)_

_The mix for this story is now up and linked in my profile!_


	15. XXII

**Chapter 15: XXII-**

When Jim was twenty-two, he got into the bar fight that changed his life.

(From there on out, it more closely resembles a rollercoaster.)

* * *

"Now, Mrs. Kirk, I need to reiterate: this is a double blind study. Neither you nor the staff here at the clinic will know if you have the placebo or the treatment until the trial is over in a year. Are you positive you wish to halt your regular treatments for that long to participate in this study?"

"It hardly feels like my current regimen is doing anything. At least this way even if I only get the placebo I'll be furthering the work for a cure. It's more useful than I've felt since this whole thing started, and it's certainly better than nothing."

She signs the forms with a flourish, beginning the work of packing up the papers while the doctor starts sending out messages to the relevant people. Jim makes sure to grab a copy of the treatment information before they leave the office.

The new treatments are supposed to stimulate extra growth in the myelin while preventing the immune system from causing further damage. It's administered intravenously, and requires her presence in the hospital three days a week.

Before they make it out of the room, the doctor looks up. "Remember, Mrs. Kirk, once you start these treatments, you're not to drive, so be sure you have a way to get to and from the clinic lined up."

In the 'car on the way home, Winona frowns. "This would be much easier if they'd let me drive."

"You know why you're not allowed, though. They have no idea what the side effects are going to be, and even a small amount of perception changes could lead to a crash.

You know as well as I that fucking around with neurons can be unpredictable."

He's rewarded with a snort. "And you know as well as I, Jim, that sometimes you just need to complain about things. We'll work out a system when the schedules for treatments are finalized."

Jim brings her to and from the appointments, but since they take most of the day, he spends his time working in the shop and doing any other work he can find that will take his mind off everything and make the days go by even the tiniest bit faster.

There was a settlement after the _Kelvin_, Starfleet had done that much, but they've hardly touched it over the years. They get a statement every month detailing how much more of the stipend has been deposited into the account, but Jim has never actually seen it used.

With these new treatments, however, they've begun to take money out. When the medical bills got higher than he could bring in, and Winona wasn't working any more, they began to spend it, but Jim keeps working because it still doesn't feel like their money. If he doesn't count it as money they have to spend, he can focus on working and exhaust himself with his work, rather than focus on what-ifs and could-bes. If it's not really money they have, he has an excuse to be working so hard.

He's never really been one to allow himself much introspection, anyway. That's a dangerous road, after all.

Mr. Cospell lets him work on his own projects sometimes, and he spends almost a whole day disassembling the engine on his 'bike, trying to improve the fuel efficiency and examining the parts, checking everything over before he puts it all back together.

He remembers building this bike, remembers going through the junkyard for parts, breaking apart old bicycles and cars and anything that looked like it would have the part he needed. It was as much a distraction as it was anything else, and it certainly worked, for the time he spent on the 'bike. Even now, eight years since he started looking for parts, his 'bike is in pristine condition, although much of that can be attributed to the way he opens it up almost monthly to make sure it continues running smoothly. He really doesn't need any more unexpected bumps in the road, and after all the work of putting it together, he's not about to let his bike fall into disrepair.

Even with his frequent checks, he feels something loosen once he's started disassembling, and by the time everything is back in place he's almost ready to deal with the world. There's something to be said for rituals and the relaxation they bring, and he's been so focused on his task that he startles a little when Mr. Cospell walks over and sits down on a stool nearby.

"Son," he starts, and Jim knows it's how the man speaks to everyone, but he still has to fight the instinctive urge to flinch. "When you're finished with this here beauty of a machine, could you spare a minute or two to talk?"

Jim looks over as he slides the last piece into place, wiping his hands on a rag as he turns around and hoping with fervor he didn't know he had in him before now that this man has not finally checked out Jim's record. It's not one that endears many people to him.

"I just finished." He tries to keep his voice light, tries to get back into that Zen place he was just a minute ago. "My time is all yours, sir."

This earns him a smile, as Mr. Cospell motions for Jim to pick a stool of his own and sit. "Now, you know better than that, Jim. I watched you grow up, and I've told you more than enough times that it's Jasper to you. I don't know the first thing to do with a title like 'sir'."

It's a familiar discussion, because, despite the beliefs of some, he can actually be respectful when he wants to, and while most older adults have done nothing to earn his respect, Mr. Cospell has put up with far more from him over the years than could rightly be expected, really. "Well, you should remember how this conversation usually goes, Mr. Cospell, seeing how we've had it so often over the years. So what can I do for you today?"

He waits for Jim to seat himself before he speaks again, thinking through his words before he lets them out. "Jim, you're probably the best damn mechanic we've got here, you know that. And I know that you'd never listen to me if I tried to push you towards a vacation. But I've been watching the work you're doing, and it's pretty clear you're not just here for the money or the machines or even just as a way to kill time. You've got that look in your eyes, son, and while I can't expect you to stop trying to work yourself into oblivion, I want you to consider it, okay?"

Jim wonders, for the briefest of moments, if he can get away with lies or even just some half-truths. He can't lie about his mom, that news spread around Riverside faster than a blink, but (as happens with such information transfers) not everyone knows the whole story. Just what Mr. Cospell knows is anyone's guess, but Jim is not in a gambling mood these days.

Instead of concocting a lie, he just offers up a rueful smile and pretends like he's actually in control of when he stops working. "I suppose we're lucky I've got a schedule to stick to, then."

That gets a laugh out of the older man, who pats him on the shoulder as he mutters, "If you didn't have other responsibilities, I dare say you'd be living in this place. And Silliman has yelled at me for that enough over the years that I won't let you make the same mistake, you hear?"

Jim can't help laughing a little at the admonishment, and it doesn't take long for Jasper to distract him with conversation until he forgets some of the restlessness in his bones.

No one comes into the shop for the rest of the day, and as Jim is helping to clean up, Mr. Cospell reminds him, as he does every week, "You and your mother are more than welcome to come over for dinner on Wednesday, Jim. Silliman is making pot-stickers, last I checked, and there's always far more than the two of us can eat."

Jim makes his usual non-committal noise, shrugs, and gives his usual reply, "That sounds delicious. I'll check with mom and see if she's up for it, but this week has been pretty rough."

They've gone through this song and dance before, and Jim has used variations on the same excuse every time, but no one really wants to be wrong about how Winona is doing, so no one ever tries to confront him about it. Few people really want to acknowledge the sick, and it's not really a comfortable discussion for anyone involved when their sickness is called into question. Jim would feel bad about using his mom as an excuse, but as he drives home he remembers the time he did take up Mr. Cospell on his offer. A home-cooked meal had sounded too good to refuse, and it was his first month staying home, and he hadn't had time to get any groceries yet, so they were going to be stuck with replicated food if he didn't accept the offer. He hadn't been prepared for how nice the Cospells would be, how sympathetic and understanding. It set him on edge, and he couldn't settle or enjoy the food, no matter how hard he tried.

Let it not be said that Jim Kirk cannot learn from his mistakes.

He's put up with a lot of things throughout his life, but pity has never been something he has handled well. Not from the first time someone recognized him as George Kirk's Son, not after Tarsus, and certainly not now.

* * *

There's a reason he's spent the past years more or less nomadic. Every time someone would ask him if he was planning on settling down, he'd brush them off with a joke or redirect the question back at them, never quite sure how to articulate his situation so they'll understand.

It's not like he hasn't tried staying in one place for more than a few weeks, but every time he does that, something goes wrong. He always manages to say the wrong thing and suddenly it's more comfortable to leave than to stay, and it's not like he's ever really felt at home anywhere, anyway. He's tried to find somewhere to call home before, tried to find somewhere he could use his name and not get stared at, somewhere that his past would not haunt him, but it eludes him almost constantly.

Once, in Louisiana, he thought he'd found somewhere he could stay for a while. But as he sat at the counter of a diner one night, eating his dinner and considering his plans for the next day, he'd overheard a few too many conversations.

The first one was a traveler, just passing through on her way to New Orleans, who recognized him, but had the tact to loudly ask the waiter about it, rather than acknowledge his presence. "Is that James Kirk?"

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, I have other customers to assist. If you wish to order more food, let me know."

Jim had a moment to appreciate the waiter's discretion before the woman leans over the back of her booth to the couple sitting behind her. "That is him, isn't it? That's James Kirk, here, in this town. What's he doing here?"

He'd left enough money to cover his bill and been out of the restaurant, planning out his next route, before the stranger got an answer.

At least in Riverside, while everyone knows his story and probably discusses it at length when he isn't present, they do have the tact to withhold their gossip while he is around. The fact that he got into more than a few fights over the behavior over the years might have helped with that.

* * *

Two weeks later, their holding pattern snaps. The day, initially, is no different from any other. They get up, make breakfast, make their way over to the treatment center, Jim heads to the garage to while the day away. When they get back to the house, things start to change.

Since she started the trial, Winona has been as tired and sick as before, though it had not grown significantly worse. This day, however, is a good day, and when they get inside, she moves to the kitchen and starts making dinner.

"Mom," Jim starts, "I know you said today went well, but you're feeling up to making dinner? For the last few weeks you haven't even been hungry when we got back."

The smile he is treated with is refreshing. "You know I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't feel up to it. Now, you go get out of those grease-stained clothes and I'll keep working on dinner. I'll let you know if I need any help."

She winds up forgetting about the rolls until the smoke alarm goes off half way through their meal, but it's more progress than there's been in a long while, so Jim doesn't feel too guilty about how relieved he is.

Five months into the trial, she's feeling well enough to go on walks in the evenings after dinner. At first they're just walks around the property, then to visit neighbors. By six months in, Winona is back to gardening, clearing out the weeds that have begun to overtake the flower beds in front of the house.

Her progress is slow, and it is not easy, but each day she can do a little more, and Jim allows himself the hope that things will return to normal.

* * *

As they near the end of the year and, consequently, the drug trial, Jim begins to feel more restless than usual. Mostly, he writes it off as nerves. If this was all just the placebo, he's not actually sure what he will do. Each small bit of progress has felt like something of a victory, and if it was all fake, then they just threw away a year of treatments that were actually helping at least a little bit, for nothing.

His mom is nervous, too, he can tell by the way she has started knitting again. Before, it was something to do with her hands so she wasn't constantly fidgeting in frustration and worry, but then her coordination grew too poor to continue. That she is capable of knitting again is a good sign, and they both know it, but there's something very dangerous about hoping, and Jim has known better than to let himself hope too hard for a long time.

And yet.

When they get to the clinic, Jim expects to have to wait in one of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs while the doctors do the exit interview with Winona. Instead, he's ushered in as well, one of the nurses explaining, "We need you to discuss the impacts the trial has had on your mother, especially regarding her behavior at home and her overall health."

It's a relief to walk into the room with his mom, to sit down on the other side of the desk from the lead doctor and wait to hear the results.

Her hair is much shorter than the last time Jim was in this office, and it's been colored mauve. He has half a mind to comment on the changes, but, well, he's a little preoccupied.

"I'm not going to bother with the formalities just yet," she starts, clearly aware that they're waiting on the information she holds. "Mrs. Kirk, I would like to thank you for participating in this trial. You were one of the patients who received our drug, and we are very impressed by the results we have gathered during your sessions. I would, however, like to gain a more full understanding of your experiences with the treatments, beyond the questions we asked you while you were in the clinic each week."

They spend two hours answering questions regarding her reactions to the treatment, the timeline of her recovery, and the side effects she noticed while on the drug. When they've exhausted the questions and even Jim is beginning to droop, Dr. Suares wraps up.

"I would like to thank you again for participating in this trial. The insights from your treatment will be invaluable. Now you have the choice of returning to the treatments you were on before our trial, or continuing with our drug, and allowing us to monitor the long-term effects it has on patients. The choice is yours, and I ask that you at least take the weekend to think it over and discuss it with anyone you need to before you get back to me. Thank you again, and I'll talk to you about your answer next week."

* * *

It isn't really much of a decision.

After four weeks more of the drug, they reduce the appointments to once a week, and Winona and Jim go out to dinner to celebrate.

While they're waiting for their meals to arrive, Winona looks at him and declares, "Jimmy, you don't have to stay and look after me anymore. The treatments have been working well enough and I'm healthy enough now that I can look after myself."

As he opens his mouth to argue, she continues. "I know you, Jimmy. You don't like being stuck here, and Ms. Drew next door has agreed to drive me in to treatments, so don't you go insisting you have to stay for that."

It's not a very long discussion.

Sam and Aurelan are visiting in a month, while Sam is on-planet looking for work (and though he insisted the decision was not due to any of this, the words "Not going to be three weeks away if it comes back," had been heard coming out of his mouth during the conversation). After their visit, Winona insists, "You, James Kirk, will stop moping around this town and go back to 'finding yourself,' or whatever it was you were doing, you hear?"

Though her tone allows for no argument, she is smiling, and Jim knows she expects nothing less of him than to sulk for a while before he finally comes to terms with her decision, which is probably why she gave him until Sam's arrival.

There's no sulking when Sam and Aurelan are visiting, as they have news that takes everyone's mind off of Winona's sickness.

"A baby? Oh, Sam that's wonderful! Is this why you wanted to move back planetside?"

"Well, it certainly didn't dissuade us. We were considering the move even before we found out, and it sealed the deal."

"Oh, Sam, Aurelan, this is wonderful! You'll have to be sure and tell us if there's anything we can do to help, okay?"

Sam laughs a little at that, and Jim shares a smile with him – there's no way they're going to make her do any work so soon after things got better, but she wouldn't be herself if she didn't offer.

"Thanks for the offer, Mom, but for now all we need to do is visit. How about we all go out to dinner, and take it from there?"

It turns out, it really is as simple as that.

* * *

It's hard for him to articulate the restlessness. He knows how it feels, and he's tried to explain it before when people questioned why he ran off, but people seem to have a hard time understanding. It probably has something to do with the root of his problems, but, well, he learned long ago not to poke sharp sticks at that particular bear. So he pushes down the urges to get on his bike and drive until he's staring up at an unfamiliar sky, and he keeps working in the garage and helping his mom. Some days, though, the restlessness gets bad enough that he cannot stop himself from speeding down the interstate for a few hours, just to feel like he's going somewhere again. The itch is back before he's even put his bike away at home, but it's easier to ignore for a while.

He'd feel bad for suddenly leaving, but when you're going stir crazy, there's no thinking about how others are going to react.

When his mom starts practically pushing him out the door, he has to wonder if maybe she knows the feeling too. She is, after all, the one who kept returning to space, even when it took the people she cared about most from her. She must know the pull to go, to explore, and to not be stagnant, how strong and insistent it gets, how it refuses to accept any other outcomes.

With her behind him, pushing him on, it's easier to head out of town, though it doesn't take long before he's pulling off the road and into the packed parking lot of a bar at happy hour. From there, well…

* * *

When he leaves Pike behind in the bar, the restlessness is back with a vengeance. Usually a fight like that would leave him subdued and settled, but tonight there's no stopping his mind from wandering, no stopping his brain from wondering what it would be like to just keep traveling forever.

It's hard to ignore the words from Pike, and as he drives out to the shipyard he can hear them echoing in his head. "I dare you to do better," over and over and over again, egging him on, driving the restlessness on, and there's a reason he never examined it too closely, dammit.

But when he looks out on the ship in progress, the future flagship of the fleet, the restlessness that he has grown so used to shifts, morphing into something stronger, more urgent, but also something that soothes at the sight of the ship. It reminds him, distantly, of the feeling he had the first time he went into space, but that brings back all of the memories of that time, and it's a good thing he gave up on sleeping tonight, anyway.

It's not really a decision, he realizes once he's made it. Over the course of his life, he's been accumulating reasons not to trust Starfleet, not to join them and not to listen to them and not to even discuss the organization with anyone. But Pike's words make him think that maybe he could be more than just a pawn, that he could do something worthwhile with Starfleet's resources.

As the sun rises behind him and he looks at the skeleton of what will one day be a magnificent ship, Jim can't help but remember officers handing out food and refusing to let him slip out of the room on their watch. He thinks about those officers who he trusted with his secret, who helped the others without even asking questions about how they got there or where the adults were. He thinks, maybe, it would be nice to be able to help someone else in the way they helped him.

By the time he gets home to tell Winona what he's decided, he's getting his confidence back, and manages to tell her his decision (though he tones down what details of the fight he can) without faltering, without backtracking and changing his mind.

It goes over better than he might have expected, which was stupid of him, really, because of course his mom would be okay with it. She was okay with him fucking off and restlessly traveling the country for so long, of course she'd be okay with him joining Starfleet. At least there he'll be in one place for four years, and he'll be given the training such that if he ever does get into any trouble out in the universe, he'll be able to handle the situation.

* * *

"Are you seriously just coming in now, Jim? Do you know what you're doing to your brain, keeping these hours? Not to mention whatever's in your system right now."

Maybe picking a doctor to be his best friend wasn't Jim's smartest choice. Being nagged immediately on entering his room isn't the ideal way to end a night, but then again it is, if the chronometers are to be believed, no longer night.

Still, Jim likes to think they've been good for each other, as roommates. Jim gets Bones to lighten up and relax on occasions, and Bones makes sure he doesn't die in his sleep. Well, there's definitely more to it than that, but he's being ushered into bed and handed a glass of water, so maybe it's not the time for coherent thought.

The point is, Bones is a great choice for best friend, even if he does nag and frown pretty loudly (yeah, McCoy frowns of disapproval are so powerful they come with _sound_) when he thinks Jim has been drinking too much (and, yeah, he has hinted at the a-word a few times, but Jim always manages to tune him out in time).

He'll just have to make sure he doesn't let him slip away. People always seem to figure out how to leave.

And maybe he said some of that out loud, because now Bones has that sad look on his face again, but sometimes that look just _happens_, and Jim can't figure out what brought it on, but he really wants to stop it.

He'll have to work on that sometime when it isn't his birthday.

* * *

He likes to think he's gotten better over the years. He likes to believe he's not the boy he used to be, but when Bones finds the stash of non-perishables under in his dresser, he has to admit he's not really "normal."

"So, kid, are we going ta talk about this any time soon?"

"I don't know what you want to talk about, Bones. It doesn't hurt to be prepared, is all."

Jim's attempt at brushing off only earns him a flat look. "Yeah, and I sprouted wings last night." He pauses, collects his thoughts, and pushes on, "Look, the way I see it, you can take your pick of conversation topics, but I get the feeling they're all connected. So. Where would you like to start?"

Deflecting always has been one of Jim's strong suits. "How about we talk about Jo? How's she doing, these days?"

"Look, Jim. I've let you be for two years, now. Figured you'd let me in eventually, but I can't ignore it, probably shouldn't have for this long. If you can't tell me, that's okay, I just need to know that you're talking to _someone_ who can help. You can't just bottle everything in and hope it goes away."

Jim knows he owes Bones information. At the very least, he should have warned him about what sets off his panic attacks when they first started rooming together. And he had intended to, but it was a lot easier to provide a list of his known allergies and leave it at that.

And he knew Bones knew something was up. He's always been aware of those watchful eyes every time his scars are on display, always been careful to maintain his façade of normal eating habits and a medically perfect body weight. He knows his nightmares have woken him up, and he's tried to be considerate during bouts if insomnia, but it definitely hasn't gone unnoticed.

It doesn't help that he's living with a man who has been _trained_ to recognize this sort of thing; a man who has studied trauma and PTSD and disordered eating and all sorts of other conditions Jim likes to pretend aren't actually in his vocabulary.

Still. While he can bullshit the best of them, finding the words to genuinely explain any of this proves too difficult a task.

"Look, Bones, it's – well, the thing is – " Giving up on that train of thought, Jim pauses. Breathes in. Breathes out. Thinks. "So, you're right, we probably do need to talk, but I gotta tell you, I don't know how to start just now. Can you give me some time?"

Bones hasn't quite been tense, this whole conversation, but it's been a close thing. At Jim's words, McCoy seems to lose some of the stiffness in his posture. "If you'll actually talk to me, you can have as much time as you need. It's not good for you to keep it all locked up like this."

"We'll talk about it, I promise."

He spends the whole next week strategizing, trying to figure out how much he must say explicitly and how much he can trust Bones to figure out on his own. He can guess that his friend suspects neglect and abuse, but also knows that's too simple. He's not sure he can bear seeing his friend's face when he finally gets it.

When he can't bring himself to avoid it any longer, Jim waits until Bones is on rotation, sure to be gone for another few hours yet. He gives himself time to ground himself before he grabs a PADD and brings up the encyclopedia article for Tarsus IV. He places it on McCoy's desk and turns his back on it, and forces himself to get some work done. He needs to finish his research paper for tomorrow, and he doesn't think he'll be able to stay up all night on it tonight.

He leaves for a run around campus just before Bones usually gets back, and extends his run by a few miles, to buy time. Jim knows, honestly, he does, that his friend won't think any less of him because of this, but the rhythmic beat of his feet on the ground helps him think through the potential ramifications of his actions for the hundredth time. If this doesn't go as expected, he's going to have to find a way to live with all of the pitying looks and overly-cautious interactions and, fuck, he's got too much time left here to deal with that. If this does work out, though… Well. It might be nice, he reflects, to have someone here know because he told them, instead of because they read it in his file before he ever met them.

When he gets back to their suite, Bones is sitting on his bed, holding the PADD and looking distraught. Jim sits down near him on the bed, hands palm-up on his thighs, and waits.

He doesn't have to wait long.

"_Jim_." The syllable carries so much weight when Bones lets it out that Jim can't figure out if he's even supposed to respond. Before he figures it out, Bones is reaching out, telegraphing his every move as he pulls Jim in and hugs him. On some level, Kirk had been expecting this, so he returns the embrace, sinking into the comfort and waiting for his friend's next words.

"Good _god_, man! How are you still functioning after everything you've been through?"

It's hardly more than a whisper, and not a question he has a satisfactory answer to, so he shrugs into the hug and mutters, "I think you're using a pretty broad definition of 'functioning'."

When he gets a chuckle in response, he knows they're going to be okay.

* * *

"Don't get your hopes up, Jim," Gaila reprimands, and he laughs her off.

"Look, just because no one _has_ passed the Kobayashi Maru before, it doesn't mean I won't." There's some affected bravado in his voice, and he is grateful when she lets him get away with it.

Wight a giggle, she opens her book again, and settles in against him once more. "Well, if _I_ couldn't get it, I see no evidence that you will. We all know I'm the smarter one!"

He leans back into her, flipping through the notes he's made of other people's experiences with the test. He's glad for their friendship, and for the casual intimacy that she so willingly provides, knowing without words when he needs it most.

"That's debatable, and the test tomorrow will settle it, once and for all, when I ace it!" Before she can add any commentary, he mutters, "Which is why I need to keep studying."

* * *

Every time he sees Uhura, he tries to guess her first name, and every time, she tells him he's got it wrong. On his way out of Pike's class, one afternoon, the man interrupts their squabble, and Jim can't help laughing as she heads off to her next class, "I'm going to get it one day!"

Pike shoots him an amused look. "I'm surprised a bright kid like you never thought to check the student directory. You've got her surname; it wouldn't take much to find her first."

"But Sir," Jim laughs, "that would be cheating! She's gotta tell me, or else where's the fun?"

"The activities you find 'fun' will never cease to baffle me," Pike drawls, and the conversation moves on to some new professor he has been training.

* * *

When the adrenaline finally clears his system, Jim can barely stop himself from collapsing. Bones is in Med Bay, tending to Pike, and Spock may not be actively glaring at him, but the Vulcan clearly has yet to fully accept his methods. Still. They just _saved Earth_. It kind of feels like a big deal.

Heading back, victorious but exhausted and in need of repairs, he can't be entirely sure what will come next.

He breathes a sigh of relief when his comm. chirps and Bones is on the other end, declaring, "He's going to be okay, Jim. It was a helluva lot of trauma, but he'll make it just fine."

The entire bridge lets out a cheer and, oh yeah, that wasn't exactly quiet, but they all deserve to know, really. The whole crew should know, really.

He thinks about doing it himself for about a minute, before inspiration strikes, and he levers himself out of the chair and over to the science station.

"Mr. Spock," he greets, and receives a nod in return. "Would you do the honor of informing the crew of Captain Pike's status?"

He can see Nyota smiling out of the corner of his eye (and, yeah, he never would have guessed that, so it's pretty lucky extenuating circumstances helped him out there), and grins when he gets another nod from Spock.

"I will make the announcement presently. Thank you, Kirk."

"Oh no, none of that. It's Jim, to you," he shoots back as he collapses in the captain's chair and surveys the bridge.

Yeah, he can't wait to see where things go from here.

* * *

Space is disconcerting. It looks so calm and beautiful and quiet, and it is, but it's also a deadly vacuum that's filled with a multitude of dangers and hostile species, just waiting for their chance to kill everyone and take over the universe.

Space calms Jim, makes him feel more at home than he ever has, yet there's the lurking knowledge that if he makes just one mistake he could get himself and his entire crew killed.

It's more than a little sobering.

Sometimes he wishes he'd just ignored Pike and continued to drink and sleep and brawl his way across the country, wishes he didn't have pressures and dangers and responsibilities that leave him even further from getting a full night's sleep.

But then they're out exploring an entirely new world, the first sentient beings to step on the planet, or they're meeting a new, space-ready civilization, seeing the looks on the residents' faces as they realize just how many wonders the universe has to offer.

And, really, when it comes down to it, that's worth all the sleepless nights and anxious days, every time.

* * *

_... And that's a wrap. It's been far too long, but I hope I've done my ideas justice. There'll probably be follow-up type things eventually? Especially if I manage to move this over to AO3...  
_

_Thoughts/ideas/whining over the perfect ball of issues that is James Tiberius Kirk are always welcome, and if you're not feeling this website, I'm also on Tumblr! _

_Thank you all for coming along for the ride!_


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